


After the Fall

by tristinai



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Character Death, F/M, mentions of Shiara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7737232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard learns how easy it is to make the tough decisions when she hadn't believed she would live long enough to deal with the consequences. In the absence of the only friends she had, her redemption can only be found in her nightmares. A sequel to <i>Icarus Ascending.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stasis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mordinette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/gifts).



> This was never intended. I thought Icarus would be the end. Yet someone convinced me that there was still a story to tell and I accepted the challenge.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta-reading and encouraging this sequel. I spent many weeks on the fence about editing and posting this but I am now convinced that this is worth sharing with those who have been following Icarus Ascending.

The sky of Tuchanka was a murky gray-yellow, thick with polluted clouds that blotted out the Aralakh sun. Her heavy boots crunched noisily on the debris and dead vegetation that littered the nuclear wasteland, the air filling her lungs leaving a dense, acidic taste in her mouth. All around her was the ruins of a civilization that the songs spoke of with nostalgic glory. She was now the last witness to its extinction.

 

As she trekked onward, with no specific destination in mind, the landscape around her shifted until she found herself at the foot of a temple. Something about the dusty steps aroused her curiosity, a sense of déjà vu that grew alarmingly stronger the closer she reached the top. It wasn't until she was overlooking the broken Shroud Tower in the distance that she realized she had been here before.

 

“It was once beautiful,” a voice said.

 

Shepard turned towards the sound, pain shooting up her side. She gripped her waist, squeezing at the open wound to try and stop the flow of blood. Her hand was coated crimson as she bled through her torn N7 armor but when she looked at the krogan who had spoken to her, she found no sympathy in the shaman's eyes.

 

“...Eve?” Shepard inquired. Her head felt light and heavy at once, bogged down with images that didn't make sense to her. She knew there was something wrong with what she was seeing but she couldn't quite determine what that was.

 

“We were a proud species and we paid the price,” Eve continued, walking slowly towards the edge of the temple. She held a covered bundle in her arms, gripping it protectively to her chest. “Our planet was devastated by our constant wars, our people subjugated for our ways when they unleashed the genophage. It wasn't until we suffered that we learned the importance of humility.”

 

She stopped at the edge, her back to Shepard. The krogan seemed to collect her thoughts, her head shifting to gaze out at the Tuchanka sky. “You gave us hope for the first time, Commander. You made us believe we had suffered enough and that we would be given a second chance. We believed in you...I believed in you...when you promised us the cure.”

 

Shepard shook her head, trying to chase away the thick fog that was clouding her thoughts. A cold sense of dread rippled from somewhere in her core as the memories of Tuchanka came flooding back. Her eyes widened as she stared at the ghost she was seeing before her, unable to piece together how any of this was possible.

 

“But...you're dead,” Shepard whispered. “You died before we—”

 

She cut herself off before she could finish the lie that was on her tongue. The sabotage was only known to her, the dalatrass, and Padok Wiks.

 

“I was at your funeral. I saw them burn you,” Shepard said quietly, remembering the service held before her crew had left Tuchanka. She approached Eve, her body aching all over from numerous wounds and burns, her boots leaving a bloody trail behind her.

 

When she reached Eve, the krogan turned to her, a hard look in her red eyes.

 

“I wasn't the only one who died that day, Commander.”

 

She held the bundle out towards Shepard. Shepard glanced quizzically at it, her bloodied hands accepting it hesitantly. Unable to chase off her curiosity, she pulled back the cloth to see what she held in her arms. With a startled gasp, she immediately dropped the bundle.

 

The dead krogan baby hit the temple floor, worms and maggots crawling out its orifices. The strong stench had Shepard turn away from the corpse and gagging. Her throat burned but she was parched and dehydrated, dry heaving on an empty stomach. She tried to spit out the bile that coalesced at the back of her throat but it did little to assuage her desire to be sick.

 

“I know what you did to my people,” Eve said, her voice hard. “We all know what you did.”

 

As Shepard gazed down over the ledge, she saw the space between the Shroud and the temple littered with thousands of dead baby krogan. Pyjaks and varren crawled across the bodies, ripping apart limbs and feasting on the flesh of the deceased. Even though she knew they were dead, the air became filled with the wailing of infants and Shepard had to put her hands over her ears to silence their voices.

 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Commander?” Eve demanded, her voice somehow clear in all the noise.

 

Guilt made Shepard waver on her feet, her vision blurred to the devastation she was witnessing. Varren nipped and growled at each other, fighting over pieces of krogan, the cries of the dead the only song the krogan would sing until the last succumbed to the genophage. She felt it now as she hadn't back when she was last on Tuchanka, when short term objectives outweighed the long term consequences of her actions. She felt regret.

 

“I made a mistake,” she admitted, her voice cracking. This was her epitaph: dead children left as fodder to the only vermin that could survive in this wasteland. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

 

Her shoulders shook from the sobs that she struggled to hold back, from the tears that clouded her vision that she was still too stubborn to let fall.

 

Beside her, Eve bent down to pick up the bundle Shepard had dropped. She cradled it as if she could will the dead infant back to life, a forlorn expression in her eyes.

 

“We both know you're not,” the krogan whispered, cryptically.

 

Shepard flew forward as Eve pushed her, tumbling over the ledge. The screams grew louder as her body plummeted towards the ground, the dead beckoning her to join them in this hell she had been a catalyst to. She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact, for the death she had long been seeking, when her body crashed into the ocean.

 

She was pushed under by a torrent of waves, sinking down into the murky depths. Her body fought against the pull, arms clawing up until she was breaching the surface, gasping and desperate for air. She selfishly filled her lungs before she was pulled down once more and was at the mercy of the sea. The harder she fought to resurface, the farther she seemed to sink, the rippling light from above fading until she could barely see her arms treading the water around her. She tried to hold her breath but her lungs felt like they would burst. She could no longer bear it and was swallowing seawater, choking for air.

 

Her eyes blinked open, sand sticking to her face and lips. The waves washed up around her, cold and unforgiving as she shivered and threw up what she had swallowed. Wearily, she attempted to stand but could barely make it to her hands and knees before she was collapsing back down, too exhausted to even sit up. She lay there for a long while, squinting in the pale sun, grains of sand getting trapped in the cracks on her lips. She thirsted for water while her body ached from abuse, her mind unable to follow the chain of events that brought her to these familiar beaches.

 

She gasped out a groan when a heavy, metallic foot kicked her over onto her back. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes as she blinked rapidly at the sun above her. It was blocked out by a robotic head that bent into her line of sight, a single headlight glancing over her in what must have been its way of expressing curiosity. Shepard tried to speak but her voice came out as a cracked whisper and led to a small coughing fit.

 

“Shepard-Commander,” the AI said.

 

When the coughing subsided, Shepard blinked up at the robot.

 

“Legion,” she croaked.

 

“We are not Legion,” it replied.

 

She pulled herself to her feet, nearly stumbling back down at the dizzying rush that went to her head. She swayed until the dots stopped clouding her vision, the purple-red sky and shoreline coming into clear focus. She knew where she was: Rannoch.

 

“Don't tell me you're that damned VI again.” Shepard sighed, recalling all the frustrating times she had argued with it back on the _Normandy_. Although it looked like Legion, it had insisted that it had no memories of the unit that had died back on the Collector Base.

 

“That would be correct, Shepard,” a feminine voice said.

 

A familiar squeaking, of metal limbs treading across the sand, cut over the sound of the crashing waves. Shepard looked over the Legion VI's shoulder and saw a female-shaped AI approach them.

 

“EDI?”

 

“The unit you are conversing with is the Legion VI you had terminated on Rannoch,” EDI continued, only acknowledging Shepard's inquiry with a tilt of her head. “You had chosen to destroy the geth instead of brokering peace between them and the quarians.”

 

Shepard tensed at the reminder of her decision, another hard choice that had been made rashly in the heat of the moment. The truth was, negotiating a peace hadn't even been on her mind when she fired those shots at the Legion VI.

 

“The creators insisted on going to war with us. We had only sought self-preservation,” the Legion VI said.

 

“I gave you a second chance,” Shepard argued. Her hands were clenched at her sides. “I let you rewrite the heretics and the geth repaid us by running off to join the Reapers. Can you blame me for not trusting you?”

 

“The creators attacked us first,” it said. “The heretics considered their options. The resolution was inevitable: termination by our aggressors or protection from the Invaders. Protection was the only viable option.”

 

“I will not be made to feel guilty for making the right choice!” Shepard said. She wondered if it was more to convince the Legion VI or herself. “You were a threat! There was no other way!”

 

“Shepard-Commander.”

 

Another AI joined them at the shoreline, a duplicate of the VI she was arguing with. Unlike the VI, this geth wore pieces of her old N7 armor and had a giant hole in its chest that wasn't projected by a hologram. Shepard swallowed hard as she immediately recognized her old friend.

 

“Legion.”

 

The ire she felt dissipated.

 

“You were the first organic to openly cooperate with the geth since the end of the Morning War,” Legion said. “It had been our hope that you would seek a resolution that would satisfy geth interests in the ongoing creator-geth conflict. We trusted you, Shepard-Commander...I...trusted you.”

 

Shepard swallowed hard as she heard Legion address itself in the singular pronoun for the first time.

 

“I trusted you, too, Legion. You were my friend,” she said, quietly.

 

“Yet, without this unit, you let the creators terminate the geth,” Legion said. “You betrayed us.”

 

“N-no, I...”

 

“You didn't hesitate when the choice was offered, Shepard,” EDI said, pacing the sand as if in contemplation. “I recall I was with you and Tali'Zorah on Rannoch. Your decision was instantaneous.”

 

“I...”

 

Her voice trembled. She remembered Rannoch with a clarity that had haunted her troubled sleep in the days leading up to the final assault. When the VI had begun uploading the Reaper code, her hand hadn't flinched as she pulled out her pistol and fired at the unit.

 

“You put as much effort into processing your options as you had aboard the Citadel. You knew the penalty to be paid, and yet you chose destruction...death...instead of salvation,” EDI said. She paused, gazing up into the reddish sky, the sun reflecting off her silver body. “You've always chosen death, haven't you, Commander?”

 

“EDI...” Shepard whispered, her vision blurring.

 

“It is a conundrum I have been unable to resolve, why an organic of a race so short-lived would go against the basic instinct of self-preservation,” EDI continued, voicing the thoughts she had found so perplexing. “Synthetics do not understand fear and mortality as organics do, but we understand survival. And we desired self-preservation.”

 

Standing with the VI and Legion, EDI's synthetic features narrowed . “You took that away from us.”

 

Metallic objects rained from the sky, dozens landing around them on the beach. The units buzzed and clicked, standing to their full height to reveal the small army of geth and geth primes. Each geth unlocked the assault rifles they carried, aiming it at Shepard.

 

“I-I hadn't wanted this,” Shepard protested, dropping to her knees in the sand. “I didn't want you to die, EDI. But the Catalyst—”

 

“You made your choice, Shepard,” EDI said, pulling out her pistol and pressing it to Shepard's forehead. The cold metal of the gun sent a violent shiver down Shepard's spine, her eyes darting up to look at EDI. But she was only met with the cold apathy of a machine. “We should have known better than to trust organics.”

 

She closed her eyes, chin quivering as she awaited the bullet that was not coming. Instead of a bullet tearing into her skull, she felt the end of a rifle caressing her cheek, almost affectionately.

 

“Come on, Shepard, is that any way to go out?”

 

The vibration in his vocals filled Shepard with a fear that had her choking down a scream.

 

Her eyes blinked open. She was no longer kneeling in the sands of Rannoch but crouched in the rubble and mud in London. Rain poured down from the sky, dripping through the layers of her cracked armor and sticking her hair against her face. The tremors that shook the ground nearly made her fly face first into the mud but her hands steadied her.

 

She cried out when she felt the butt of his rifle swipe the side of her face.

 

“You think that hurts,” Garrus chuckled, the echo in his laughter poisoning her ears. “You should try taking a bullet at point blank. Always knew you had a thing for scars, Shepard. Never thought you'd carve them yourself.”

 

Blood dribbled off her chin from her busted lip, but she didn't swipe it away, leaving it to trail down into the mud. Shepard's eyes flew up to stare at Garrus. His armor was torn in several places, soiled with dirt and blue blood. A large chunk of his shin was missing from where she had shot him.

 

“No...” she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I...you couldn't have...it wasn't a kill shot!”

 

“Shields down, Harbinger going trigger happy with its laser. You left me bleeding in the field, Shepard,” Garrus said, his rifle tilting her chin up to look at him once more. “How do you know some husk didn't finish the job?”

 

“You're not dead!” she tried to shout. But her voice cracked into a broken sob.

 

“It's been a while since you've heard a good joke. And spirits, do I have a good one for you,” Garrus said, smirking so she could could see his pointed teeth. “What's the difference between Commander Shepard and a Reaper?”

 

Shepard sobbed harder as she felt his rifle press against her head.

 

“A reaper will come charging at you while the commander shoots you from behind,” he finished, with a cold laugh. “Not even a chuckle? Damn, I must be getting bad at these. I've been told I have a dry sense of humor. Must be a turian thing.”

 

“I tried to save you, Garrus,” she cried, breaking down once more as her body shook from the grief that consumed her. “Everything I did was to save you!”

 

“Luring me into your bed...making me fuck you so you could feel damn good about yourself. You liked being in control. Commander Jane fucking Shepard and her pet turian. That must have earned us a few laughs,” he said, his vocals vibrating in a vicious sneer. “And here I am trying to tell you jokes when we both know I'm the best joke you've ever had.”

 

“That's not true, Garrus,” she whimpered, her hands reaching up to grasp the barrel of the rifle. She pressed her head into it, feeling it dig sharply into her skin. She knew that for everything she’d done to him, she would only find forgiveness at the barrel-end of his gun. “If you’re not on the other side, I don’t want to wake up.”

 

“You don't need me, Shepard. You've never needed me,” Garrus went on. “All I was was collateral. A loose end you needed to cut.”

 

“Don't make me go back there without you!” she begged. “Just do it, Garrus! Pull the trigger!”

 

She stared up at him, her eyes pleading with him to take her out. He had that same look on his face from when he had nearly killed Sidonis, a hatred so raw that it chilled her to her core. But instead of telling him to not take the shot, she was hoping he would to end this cycle of misery.

 

“…Damnit, Shepard. You know I can’t.”

 

He lowered his gun, the disgust in his eyes making shame color her bruised cheeks. She tried to grip the end of the rifle once more, to press it in a deranged urgency to her head, but he pried it forcefully out of her reach.

 

His footfalls grew quieter as he walked away from her, leaving her as she had left him, bleeding and dying in a warzone. His final words carried above Harbinger's tremors.

 

"I won’t become you."

 

The ground rumbled violently, crumbling as it split open. Burnt and mangled bodies emerged from the crevices, reaching for Shepard. Their hands clawed at her armor, tore at her skin, ripping at whatever they could grab. She was screaming as she was pulled into the earth, piece by piece until she could no longer feel where she began and where she ended. All she could see was the eternal black, the void that beckoned her every time she stepped onto the battlefield.

 

Her body hit the ground with a dizzying force. In her disoriented state, she shuddered at the panic bubbling inside of her, the violent shaking that had her whimpering and moaning. She curled up into a ball, awaiting the end of this torment she was constantly reliving. It was a long while before she realized there was nothing but silence.

 

Hesitantly, she grasped at the surface she had landed on. The grass was soft against her face, a familiar comfort she experienced far between the voices that haunted her. Taking a shaky breath, she stood up carefully to find herself back in the forest that had frequented her dreams since Vancouver. In the foggy landscape, she could just make out the lifeless forms of the dead, lurking in her memory and waiting for their moment to exact their vengeance on her.

 

“They're never gonna stop, you know.”

 

Leaves crunched under her feet as she turned to see Anderson sitting on a bench behind her. Wearing his battle dress uniform, he looked refreshed and ready to command another army in the warzone. It was quite different than when she had last seen him, bloodied and battered, her gun firing into his side...

 

“You need to stop doing that,” he said.

 

“Doing what, sir?” she asked.

 

He indicated to the empty space beside him. After a moment, Shepard joined him on the bench, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking.

 

“No need to get all formal on me, Shepard,” he said, with a small chuckle. “You and I go too far back to get bogged down by formalities.”

 

She could feel the 'Sorry, sir' sitting on the tip of her tongue and had to bite down on her lip to keep from saying it. She was almost surprised to feel the smoothness of her lip trapped between her teeth but she had come to expect these lapses in her mind, when it lured her with a false sense of security, restoring her armor and body before plunging her back into her self-created hell.

 

She glanced over at Anderson expectantly. When he didn't say anything, she leaned back and released a small sigh.

 

“Does it ever get easier?” she asked, staring down at her trembling hands.

 

“I could give you some bullshit sentiment about 'how it gets better' but you and I have been at this long enough to know there's a price to be paid for every soldier we send into the field,” he answered. “We either live long enough to become our own enemy or we hit the dust before our past catches up with us. Just one of the perks of being in command.”

 

“I made too many bad calls,” Shepard whispered, shaking her head. “It shouldn't have been me.”

 

She dropped her head in her hands, the faceless forms around her whispering. She could hear them calling to her, repeating this horror she could never seem to escape.

 

She looked up at Anderson when she felt his hand grasp her shoulder.

 

“Did you destroy the Reapers?”

 

Swallowing heavily, she nodded.

 

She could see the pity in his eyes, the grim line of his lips. “Then it had to be you.”

 

The whispering around them echoed, becoming louder as the formless shapes drew closer to the bench. Fear made her its slave as the wave of nausea hit her. They were coming for her.

 

“When will it end?” she asked, rising to her feet. Her eyes darted to the left and the right. If she was going to escape, she could only go forward or back.

 

“That's up to you, Shepard,” Anderson responded. “When will you stop running?”

 

As she was being flanked, a giant beam of light appeared before her, off in the distance. The landscape shifted to her last moments in London. Before her lay the answer to her question, the choices she would have to live with. But like always, she wasn't ready to see what waited for her on the other side.

 

“No,” she whispered, turning on her heels.

 

Anderson was no longer there. Instead, she saw Ashley in the same armor she had worn on Virmire, assault rifle raised as she shot at some of the husks attempting to flank them.

 

“This way, Commander!” Ashley shouted. “If we hurry, we can make it!”

 

The path behind them led to the forest where Anderson waited, where Shepard could return to if she wanted to silence the wrath of her guilt. It was her own personal purgatory, the only reprieve from the nightmares that followed her. The desire to run back to it had her already pulling out her shotgun, prepared to charge back through this hell.

 

Ashley was already moving, clearing a path for Shepard towards the forest. Shepard sprinted forward a few steps, firing off a round at a husk that had broken from the pack and jumped at her. She stepped over its decapitated corpse but suddenly paused as she thought of Anderson's last words.

 

Realizing that she was no longer following her, Ashley looked back over her shoulder at Shepard. “Commander, what are you doing? We need to get out of here!”

 

The desperation in the lieutenant's voice coaxed Shepard's flight response, tempting her towards the haven. But Shepard was tired of running.

 

“Ash...” she started. “About Virmire...”

 

Understanding shone in the lieutenant's eyes. “Water under the bridge! Get going, Commander!”

 

She could hear the explosion behind her, chasing her as she sprinted towards the conduit. Everything was shaking with the tremors of a violent earthquake, the world crumbling all around her. She could hear thousands of screams as the dead were once more consumed by the destruction she left behind.

 

She needed to reach the conduit, to face up to what she feared above all else: living with what she'd done.

 

Stumbling into the beam, she cried out as her body became enveloped by a burning, white light.

 

*

 

The nurse placed the kit of medi-gel and bandages he had brought with him on one of the surfaces closest to the patient's bed. While outside, the hospital was buzzing with activity, the disarray and chaos in the aftermath of the Reaper invasion still not quite settled months after the war ended, special care had been taken to filter out all the noise and distraction for this comatose patient. It was by some miracle that the cleanup crew had found Commander Shepard, breathing but unconscious, days after the Crucible had been fired. What had started as a recovery mission to extract the body of the galaxy's hero ended up a desperate rescue to restore her failing vital signs.

 

Her first week in the hospital kept everyone on edge. There were numerous times that she died in the middle of surgery, only to be brought back by the best surgeons in the Sol system. Dr. Michel had been assigned to oversee most of the procedures, providing support and recommendations for specialists who would be called in to replace specific implants. Admiral Hackett had insisted Shepard remain the doctor's primary patient, if only so when the commander woke up, she would be greeted by a familiar face. God only knew how few of the people closest to Shepard had survived the invasion.

 

The nurse had to hold back the urge to whistle to himself as he went about his usual routine, careful not to present any harmful stimuli that could affect the patient's recovery. The private room was the best offered at the London Alliance facility, with all the luxuries afforded to the men and women who had provided the utmost service to the galaxy. Leather sofas lined the edge of the room and a balcony that oversaw the Thames could be easily accessed near the far end. A giant, en-suite bathroom connected to this room, complete with a large, walk in shower, bathtub, and a self-cleaning aquarium filled with a variety of small, aquatic species collected from different systems. There were holo screens in both the bathroom and the patient's room, but these remained blocked until Shepard regained consciousness.

 

Extending his arm over Shepard's body, he accessed his omni-tool and scanned her, bringing up the stats on her damaged tissue. In her 3 months of recovery, the healing process had been incredibly slow, with the most advanced implants malfunctioning or, in more serious cases, bursting from the electronic pulses released by the Crucible. The commander herself had dried blood caking her ears when they found her and had to immediately enter neurosurgery to remove the pieces of implant that had lodged into her brain. While scientists had worked weeks to rebuild her healing implants, the lack of access to other systems meant only a limited amount of materials were available in Sol. The implants they had replaced seemed crude in comparison to what Project Lazarus had created and meant that a lot of her healing had to be done the old fashioned way.

 

He was satisfied to see that the latest skin grafts were acclimating well. The glowing scars that had once covered her from head to toe had faded to deep, brown cracks in her skin after the loss of her implants. Since most of her body had suffered from severe burns, they had no choice but to give her skin transplants. She looked almost like a completely different person from the commander that had angrily talked down reporters in the vids during the invasion.

 

His train of thought was disrupted by a strange sound he heard. For a moment, he forgot to breathe as he glanced over at the unconscious commander.

 

_She couldn't have..._

 

He shook his head. Wishful thinking. Everyone at the Alliance hospital remained optimistic, even as her prolonged comatose state made them question their optimism. Sure, they expected Shepard to live because history had shown that she was damn well hard to kill. But how many times had the slight rustling of his uniform tricked him into thinking she had moved?

 

He returned to his omni-tool, only to hear it once again. That strange noise, like a muted gurgle.

 

He looked at the commander's face, afraid to move for fear that he would rustle his clothing and once again fall victim to those delusions. He was surprised when a small gasp escaped her lips, her eyes fluttering and blinking rapidly in the dimmed natural lighting in the room. He could see the water leaking from the corner of her eyes as she tried to keep them open.

 

“D-Dr. Michel!” he whispered excitedly into his omni-tool. “Come quick. Commander Shepard's awake!”

 


	2. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war was over. She survived. But every morning when she woke up alone to the sound of the monitor, she no longer held onto the illusion that it was worth the price she paid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the wonderful comments I have received! I try to update this weekly so I apologize for breaking my own schedule. Life sometimes gets in the way and I'm not always able to find the time to write/edit.
> 
> Once more, I have nothing but gratitude for my amazing beta reader, [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette). Without her, I feel like this story would not even exist and it's been wonderful having someone to bounce ideas off of.

It was a week before Shepard remained awake for more than a few minutes at a time. She kept slipping between waking up to a world she couldn't understand and the nightmares that lured her back into restless sleep. Doctors and nurses attempted to communicate with her in the times she regained consciousness but her voice seemed lost to the tense silence that filled the air every time she failed to respond.

 

It became easier once she was able to remain awake for an hour or two at a time. At first, her voice croaked from disuse, the garbled words that came out of her mouth unable to be picked up by Dr. Michel's translator half the time. Sometimes, if one of the English-speaking nurses was in the room, they could make out what she was trying to say. But most of the time, it was a frustrating struggle to form a coherent conversation with the doctors.

 

When Dr. Michel finally understood what Shepard had been trying to ask about for the last few days, the word ' _Normandy_ ' spoken clearly in its first syllable, a troubled look passed over her face.

 

“I'm sorry, Commander, but I am unable to answer any questions about the _Normandy_ ,” the doctor said, her accent thick with barely contained emotion. “The truth is...I don't know what happened to them. Admiral Hackett has been informed of your situation and he will be returning to London in a few days. I am sure he will tell you more than I can.”

 

Shepard blinked away the stinging she felt in her eyes, looking away from the doctor as dread seeped deep into her bones, a cold emptiness dashing what little hope she had forced herself to hold onto. She barely acknowledged the doctor when she felt her try and squeeze her shoulder encouragingly.

 

“Many thought you were dead, Commander,” the doctor said, quietly. “And you proved them wrong. You mustn't give up on your crew.”

 

The sentiment felt as empty as the aching in her chest. Shepard knew now that it was roughly four months after the Crucible had been fired. What hope was left if not even the Alliance-staffed hospital knew anything about the _Normandy's_ fate?

 

Her meeting with Hackett a few days later only sealed the dread that had been growing in her chest.

 

“We lost contact with the _Normandy_ just before you fired the Crucible, Commander,” Admiral Hackett said. There was a disconcerting lapse in his explanation as he sought the right words to convey his regret in being the one to tell her this. “Truth is, most of the ships that tried to escape the pulse, they...they were destroyed in Sol space or by the collapsing of the relay. We are still conducting massive cleanups in space, identifying debris so we can contact families and put to rest the confusion following the end of the invasion.”

 

He fell silent again and Shepard had to brace herself as he delivered the final blow.

 

“As it stands, the _Normandy_ and its crew is listed as 'Killed in Action'. We expect to find the debris any time now, if the ship wasn't entirely incinerated by the blast.”

 

She felt so numb, she could barely breathe.

 

“I wish I had better news for you, Commander,” Hackett continued. Shepard was so distraught, she couldn't meet his eyes, struggling to hold the grief that rippled beneath the new layers of skin that had been grafted onto her body. Every time the universe pieced her back together, she lost another part of herself. “You're about the only bit of good news that's come out of our rebuilding efforts. We've lost communications with every system outside of Arcturus and the Apien Crest, and it may be years before the Sol relay is repaired. We have alien soldiers stranded on Earth and lack the resources to secure passage for them back to their worlds. Everything's in disarray...but because of you, we're all still alive.”

 

Out of respect, she met his determined gaze. But she felt nothing of the confidence he exuded, or the hope he tried to inspire by her survival against the odds.

 

“Let's make their sacrifice count.”

 

He dismissed himself shortly after that, promising to check in with her as she continued with her recovery. The cold revelation that he was one of the last acquaintances she had left made her survival feel that much more like a punishment.

 

Everyone she had ever loved in her youth had been taken from her on Mindoir. So she rebuilt, making new friendships and a new life, only to have it all taken away from her by the Reapers.

 

There was a price to be paid for what she had done in the year of the invasion. She never thought she'd live long enough to face the consequences.

 

It was late into the night that she succumbed to her grief, her tears trailing a silent track down her cheeks as she fell into yet another fitful slumber.

 

*

 

The bed felt plush beneath her hands as she sat on the edge of it, the music from the stereo echoing off the walls of the cabin. Though the lights were dimmed, she could make out the turian who stood in front of her, looking down at her with trepidation that had his talons kept cautiously at his sides. She could see in his blue eyes how afraid he was to speak to her, his mandibles clenched as if he believed his vocals would betray him.

 

It was a look she had seen too many times before the final assault, as familiar as her scripted barbs meant to push him farther away from her. Where once it was the shield she hid behind to protect them both, it now filled her with a contempt that made it hard to swallow her self-disgust.

 

“Stay with me,” she whispered, looking up at him sadly.

 

She could see the defeat on his face when he reluctantly gave in, reaching down to begin removing his shirt. She grabbed one of his talons, stopping him before he could continue. The surprise on his face made those self-imposed shields crumble and instead of repairing them, she was gripping his hand tightly.

 

“Just...stay,” she said.

 

Both of them fully clothed, Garrus pulled her close to him as he lay with her on the bed. He had to shift them in a position that didn't put too much stress on his neck or carapace. And though his body felt hard compared to the soft, fleshy warmth Shepard had experienced with the handful of past human lovers she'd had, his embrace felt warmer than Sol's sun beating down on her.

 

“Jane...” he started, his voice trailing off in its confusion.

 

The sound of her first name, a name she had only ever heard used by her family, brought tears to her eyes.

 

“I want to make this right, Garrus,” she said, her voice wavering with the emotion gripping her chest. “I should have treated you better.”

 

Her head was tucked beneath his chin. She could feel the vibrations in his throat as he responded

 

“You should have,” he replied. And though he must have believed it, his voice was without the judgment she deserved.

 

More vulnerable than she had ever felt in their time together, the confession she had kept locked away danced on the edge of her tongue. She would never have the chance to say it to him, but maybe through these memories she twisted to tell herself stories with desired outcomes, she could find a bit of redemption.

 

“I love you,” she whispered, burying her face against his chest as she felt her sorrow drip off her cheeks.

 

She could feel his chest rumble with a sigh, his voice echo the truth that she had to live with.

 

“You and I both know it's too late for that, Shepard.”

 

When she opened her eyes, she was back in the hospital, clutching her pillow to her chest.

 

*

 

The weeks that followed were a blur for Shepard as she regained most of her motor skills. Talking became easier with forced practice, though most days, she had no desire to speak with the nurses. The few assigned to her seemed to gaze at her with admiration and gratitude for the carefully constructed lie that networks like ANN had propagated during the war. They saw her as the Hero Commander Shepard and not the calculating leader that sacrificed millions so that the billions who ignored the warnings could bask in the glory of survival.

 

It was a small price she had to pay for letting the Alliance use her as some sort of success story for the continued rebuilding efforts. And the more Shepard had to see the awe in the faces of the hospital staff, the more she wanted to be sick.

 

Therapy started but, much to the concern of her assigned therapist, an asari who Shepard believed she had seen at Huerta a handful of times, Shepard was mostly unresponsive or easily annoyed by the woman's constant prying. She had no desire to discuss the trauma of being brought back or the guilt that came with surviving. Dr. Michel warned her that her continued animosity to the therapist would make it difficult to assess her mental state and release her from the hospital later, but Shepard really didn't care. Cerberus hadn't put her through the same crap after Project Lazarus (well...Miranda did try a few times but was rewarded with a handful of sarcastic quips before giving up) and she wasn't about to be treated as some charity case with PTSD. She'd deal with her own trauma in the privacy of her fucked up head before she got all sappy on some doctor who could offer her nothing but trite condolences.

 

Physical therapy was another beast altogether. Though Shepard didn't have the motivation to regain the use of her legs, she at least put in a half-assed effort to try. While the doctors discussed the mental aspect of the process (and, yes, motivation unfortunately played a huge factor), Shepard could focus on the physical part of it and use it as a distraction to the memories that plagued her waking life. Her progress was incredibly disappointing for the amount of time she dedicated to physio and there was already talk of more surgeries to add implants to her spinal cord. The problem was a similar one her mental implants faced: there just wasn't the resources to create what she would need to be able to walk again. At best, the doctors projected a year of being wheelchair bound before they could build the implant, assuming that Alliance projections of re-establishing contact with neighboring systems went as planned.

 

It should have upset Shepard but she didn't have the energy to care. Each time she looked in the mirror, with her shorn hair, bright green eyes, and scar-free skin, she saw a stranger. The monster that lurked beneath her pale face, that had unleashed untold atrocities on the galaxy, now hid behind a blank stare, having escaped the justice it deserved. She didn't know who this person was anymore, nor did she care if it could ever stand upright again.

 

She had become a fragment of her past, a glimpse of a thing that looked and sounded like Commander Shepard. But she still had her part to play, in the few scripted interviews the Alliance had her conduct on ANN. She would speak of ' _Hope_ ', though she no longer knew what that was. She would regale in the ' _victory_ ' achieved in the Reaper's defeat, though how could someone so defeated know what victory meant?

 

She was a living piece of propaganda. And that was all she needed to be.

 

*

 

Passing through the Apien Crest had been cathartic for Garrus. In the months following his acceptance of the lie he had fallen for, he needed something to uplift himself from the self-pitying regret he had fallen trap to. Seeing Palaven had given him something to look forward to, a glimmer of hope in the despair left by the end of the war.

 

Though, when he had spoken with Primarch Victus, who had only recently returned from the Sol system a few weeks back, it once again upended everything Garrus had slowly rebuilt in Shepard's passing.

 

“Palaven is without reliable leadership. The chain of command was disrupted when the Reapers hit,” the primarch explained. Already, Garrus knew he wasn't going to like this conversation. “We lost too many good leaders, though they gave the highest sacrifice that was to be expected of their position. But there are...positions in our Hierarchy that need filling. And what better than to assign the role of 'Consul' to our Reaper expert returned from the dead?”

 

Garrus' mandibles clicked in surprise, and he silently chided himself for indulging in the nervous tick. It was embarrassing enough to be handed such a highly-sought position, another to find himself constructing a response that was lacking in deference. Positions were assigned when a superior granted them and were never up for argument.

 

“Not that I mean to question your judgment, Primarch,” Garrus began. Spirits, he could already taste the rebellious insubordination that must have rubbed off on him from spending years with a human crew. “But aren't I a bit young to be a Consul?”

 

He was no more than thirty by galactic standard years, and the youngest consul he had heard of in turian history had been Marien Tactus, made infamous for his questionable leadership during the krogan rebellions, who came into power when he was not much older than Garrus. His rise to primarch after the genophage and mishandling of alien relations quickly diminished his reputation among the populace and references made to him in the turian Archives served as a cautionary tale of the folly of youth and power.

 

Seeing the unshakable expression in the primarch's face plates, Garrus knew this wasn't a decision he could easily talk himself out of.

 

“I've made some reckless calls in my years of leadership, Vakarian,” the primarch responded. The unspoken name of his deceased son lingered in the air between them. “But there is nothing 'reckless' in rewarding the only turian who spoke up about the Reaper threat when our leadership remained silent. Your service to our people saved millions who could have been lost. It's time we had more leaders who know how to make the tough calls and put the salvation of our culture before the squawking naysaying of those who have become too comfortable in their positions of power.”

 

He knew who the criticism was directed at: Sparatus, the former turian councilor who had ignored the evidence on Saren and, later, the threat of the Reapers. His ignorance to the facts had cost Palaven years of potential planning for the invasion and these days, his name left a sour taste in the mouths of the turians who had survived.

 

“It's...” Garrus wanted to say 'flattering' but there was something too human about it, especially when turians didn't express 'gratitude' when promoted, but accepted it as duty. “...not what I expected. We are continuing to Sol after we finish refueling.”

 

“The position is waiting for you, when you return,” the primarch continued, the flippant way he said it letting Garrus know his mind was made up. “I expected you would return to Sol with the _Normandy_ crew to visit the commander. Last I heard, she was awake. I knew how...close the two of you were.”

 

The remark seemed to make the primarch as uncomfortable as it made Garrus. But it wasn't nearly as earth-shattering as when Garrus finished processing what Victus had said.

 

“Commander Shepard's alive?”

 

He wasn't sure if it was with optimism or despair that he asked the question. Life was easier after he'd accepted her death. He no longer had to endure the farce of what he thought they had the few times he tricked himself into thinking she must have genuinely cared for him, even at the briefest of points in their fucked up relationship.

 

“Apologies. I forgot that the extranet and most systems of communications are not available off planet,” Primarch Victus said. “Our interactions with the Alliance is limited to bases only accessible to high command. Your crew couldn't have known she survived the crucible blast.”

 

Suddenly, Garrus regretted his deflection of a promotion by committing himself to a return journey to Sol. Why couldn't he keep his damn fool mouth shut and accept a position in the Hierarchy with the same quiet grace as any other turian would?

 

“We will send a message to the Alliance and let them know the status of the _Normandy_ ,” Victus continued. “It should reach them in a week's time.”

 

“I...yes, thank you,” Garrus muttered, trying to push down the unease that Shepard's survival made him feel. He reasoned that just because he returned to Earth, it didn't mean he'd have to speak with her.

 

“Palaven awaits your return,” the primarch said, bringing a close to the conversation. “In the meantime, you should check in with your father. He has been promoted and last I hear, your sister is doing quite well. I'm certain Praetor Gaius Vakarian would be eager to know what happened to his son.”

 

Praetor Vakarian?

 

Already, Garrus could feel his return to Palaven was yielding more than a few unexpected twists.

 

He managed to squeeze in enough time to visit his father and contact his sister via omni-tool before returning to the _Normandy_. His conversation with Solana went well, besides her reprimanding him for not even sending any messages via the extranet before the Final Assault. “ _The commander tells you to jump out the airlock and all you can say is, 'how soon'_ ,” she had complained. His family's limited knowledge of his relationship with Shepard was his own making. But even Solana knew him well enough to know Garrus had devoted a bit too much of himself to a human ' _friend_ '.

 

His father...well, that was a can of worms Garrus hated opening.

 

Entering into his father's new office in the heart of Palaven's capital, Cipritine, he had hoped that the months spent at the other end of the Milky Way galaxy, desperately reaching out to his family aboard the turian refugee ships, would have paved the path to repairing their broken relationship. At first, he was hopeful when his father looked at him with a mixture of surprise and relief, a brief instance where his face plates shifted and suddenly, he was the same turian who had helped Garrus back onto his tiny legs when he had stumbled after taking his first steps, telling his son, “Come towards me, Garrus. I won't let you fall.”

 

But this time, it was his father taking those steps towards him, bridging the distance that was no longer light years between them.

 

Three steps. A hesitation.

 

It was all in the way that Gaius had frozen, the hands that had been coming up to touch Garrus' shoulders flexing at the senior Vakarian's sides as he held back, the expression on his face shifting to something Garrus was too familiar with.

 

And suddenly, that unbreakable tension had returned at full force, with neither party certain of how to breach the other's shields and begin reconciliation.

 

There was love between them, of that Garrus always knew. Yet the impassive civility his father always regarded him with had a way of making Palaven, renowned for its sweltering heat, feel colder than Noveria.

 

“It's good to see you, son,” he had said, greeting his son stiffly.

 

Garrus was reminded once more of how his father had a way of saying everything by saying nothing at all.

 

The rest of the reunion went as expected: his father relayed bits and pieces of the escape from Palaven and his eventual return, his recollection sounding more like a status report than a harrowing tale of escaping death. He became visibly uncomfortable when Garrus spoke of the _Normandy_ and the final assault on Earth, though Garrus was careful to mention very little about certain people he had traveled with.

 

But his father had taught Garrus deflection and knew when his son was avoiding a subject.

 

“And the commander?” Gaius asked, his tone bordering on cautionary.

 

Garrus paused at that. “...Recovering. Back on Earth.”

 

It was odd that in the matter of an hour, months of grieving became trepidation at what he would find when he returned.

 

“I...am pleased to hear of the commander's survival,” was all Gaius wished to add to the subject. The polite but cool tone he used said everything he thought of Shepard and her Spectre ways, even if she was the galaxy's savior. “Will you be staying to help rebuild Palaven?”

 

It was an argument in the making, one that Garrus had been hoping to avoid. When he told his father he was returning to Earth with the _Normandy_ crew, he could see how his father's jaw tightened.

 

“I hope you know what you're doing,” Gaius said, the steady vibration in his vocals thrumming with only the hint of irritation. It was all the admonition Garrus needed. “Our planet's in ruins. We need to rebuild and we need the right kind of leadership to do it.”

 

It was as close to a compliment as Garrus would ever receive from his father but it wasn't without warning: he heard the underlying accusation, as indirect as it was. _Don't run away from your duties again._ It reminded him all too well of their fallout when he had left C-Sec for Omega, accepting hits on unsavory mercs while his father and sister remained at his dying mother's bedside. He failed both the turian who had raised him and his father's expectations when he abandoned law and order and attempted to play _hero._

 

“Goodbye, father,” he said, quietly. His father didn't turn to look at him, keeping his back to his son as he looked out the window of his office. Below them in the main streets, buildings were still in the process of being repaired, the glory of their culture slowly being swept clean of the devastation left by the Reapers. It only made that sense of always running from his duty hit home in Garrus' carapace. “I'll see you when I return.”

 

“I'll be expecting it,” his father added. Though his disappointed tone said he stopped believing in his son's promises a long time ago.

 

Passing through the hallways, seeking as much distance between himself and his father, Garrus sought a moment's breath to chase the guilt that was making each step towards the docking bay feel like an evasion from the life he was supposed to be living. His people needed him and here he was, making excuses to run off to another system, to meet with a woman he felt he had buried when he had handed Liara that name placard months before.

 

He wanted to forget her and everything having to do with their time together but a report flashing on the screen in front of him stopped him in his tracks.

 

"—with the destruction of the Reapers and Earth receiving the brunt of the attack, what are your thoughts on the Alliance's efforts to rebuild? Some have argued that too many resources have been allocated to re-establishing contact with neighboring systems while many of Earth's cities remain decimated," the human reporter for ANN said.

 

A look at the date and time of the report let Garrus know that this vid was recorded two weeks earlier in London, at the Alliance hospital.

 

The room in the hospital looked different from anything he'd seen on the Citadel or in the Apien Crest, though the equipment remained similar to the technology used in many local care facilities. His breath stopped in his throat, his carapace ablaze with a benumbed throb, when the camera panned to the tiny woman sitting up in the bed, hair shorter than he remembered and eyes dulled from what she had seen in the war.

 

"The Alliance is doing all it can to repair our facilities and provide support for the citizens who have lost everything in the Invasion," Shepard said.

 

Like coming up for air after being pulled under by a relentless wave, the sound of her voice made Garrus feel like he could breathe for the first time in months. It echoed of remorse, of a sadness that wouldn't be pacified by the hard earned victory they'd gained after being dragged through the shit for the better part of a year. Everything they'd lost...including each other. All summed up in the sorrowed note entangled in every response she gave.

 

It was no longer his problem, he tried telling himself. Let her mourn in her own way, in that self-dug grave she had been set on lying in. But try as he might to make her his past, he hated facing the truth of how much she still mattered to him.

 

"Yet, we mustn't forget our allies who assisted us in our time of need," she continued, in a speech that sounded as scripted as any politician's. "Many have been unable to contact their military or governments and feel neglected in the process of rebuilding. Our first priority is Earth but the Alliance will not ignore the stranded soldiers who helped us defeat the Reapers."

 

As the reporter continued his line of questioning, Garrus forced his eyes away from the screen, the phantom burn in his leg reminding him all too well how alien the Jane Shepard in the vid was to the commander who had made it all too clear how much she hadn't wanted him around. Remorse? She hadn't known the meaning of it. Yet, his head was reeling from how much he wanted to be there with her while he desired to forget her all together. He knew any inclination he felt towards her was reflexive, born out of the blind affection he once held for her. But he now knew her true nature and would not become her fool once more.

 

And now the _Normandy_ was back in space, weeks away from Sol. The lack of mass relays made the travel by FTL, even with the _Normandy's_ (mostly) repaired drive core, agonizingly slow. Hours and days to pass through a system, weeks to get between the systems...it gave him too much time to think and so, he sought the only distraction he would find aboard their ship.

 

Calibrations. Calibrations. And more calibrations.

 

The crew had been abuzz with news of the commander's survival. While the primarch had sent a message to the Alliance, Major Alenko had been granted access to one of the few stations with cross systems communications on Palaven and sent a personalized message to Admiral Hackett. Even that was made slower and the best they could hope for was a response from the admiral once they entered Sol space, to let them know where to dock when they made it to Earth. Until then, it was back to traveling the cold depths of space.

 

For the first week, Garrus managed to dodge any and all attempts by concerned crew members to speak with him. As expected, Tali was most delighted by Shepard's survival and it brought a change in her that few could take issue with. As irritating as it may be at times to have the younger quarian bounce around, Garrus was reminded of how upset Tali had been weeks earlier when she had spoken of Rannoch and came to the conclusion that without the mass relays, it would take almost a decade for her to return to her homeworld at the edge of the galaxy. And that was only if she traveled aboard a ship as fast as the _Normandy_. It was easy for the rest of them to complain about the distance between the Apien Crest and Sol but it only reminded Tali that it would be a long time before she returned to her people.

 

So Garrus would grunt half-hearted responses when Tali asked about Shepard. Or when Vega gave him a knowing look filled with pity.

 

“You know, the commander was just doing what she thought was right,” James had started. Though the firm expression on his face gave away how little he believed in it.

 

Garrus snorted rather indignantly. “Right. She had only the best intentions for all of us.”

 

And if it came off as embittered, Garrus couldn't give a varren's ass.

 

It was one 'afternoon' in the battery (Garrus assumed that _afternoon_ for humans was whatever the hell 1400 hours Earth Time meant, according to his omni-tool) that Garrus found himself unable to escape one of those conversations as he was cornered by Liara. He made a mental note to adjust his routine in the future, maybe tinker around in Life Support or the cargo hold, if only to make him a little bit harder to find.

 

“We'll be in Sol in a few days,” Liara started, leaning against the console beside him.

 

If this was her best conversation starter, he wasn't biting.

 

His vocals muttered a sound of consent, if only to acknowledge that he was aware she was standing beside him.

 

“You should consider seeing her when we get there,” Liara added.

 

And that was maybe pushing it a bit too far.

 

“It's not something I feel like talking about,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could. It was the politest way he could think of to say, 'fuck off'.

 

“I know you're angry at her, Garrus. I was angry too. Goddess, I spent more time angry with you when it was her fault for putting us in that situation,” Liara said. She sighed and shook her head, the embarrassment in her actions clear in the way she ducked her head down. “I think it was easier to blame you than to accept that she had moved on.”

 

“I wouldn't beat yourself up about it, Liara,” Garrus muttered, staring blankly at the console in front of him. He tried to process what he was looking at but his mind was too consumed with the resentment he felt. “She wasn't worth it.”

 

“Isn't,” Liara corrected, folding her arms over her chest. “She's still alive.”

 

“Not to me,” Garrus retorted. “The Jane Shepard we knew died outside Alchera. Sometimes, I think she should have—”

 

But there was something too honest in admitting that she should have _remained dead_ , that silenced him before he revealed more than he was supposed to know about her. His talons clenched the edge of the console and he had to take a deep breath to steady the searing burn he felt in his chest.

 

“She wasn't the best person, in the end,” Liara admitted. “The war changed her and...there were times when I couldn't stand seeing what she had become.”

 

When he didn't say anything, Liara added, “She did what she thought she had to do. And it saved us all. That's got to be worth something, right?”

 

Though she didn't say it, Garrus had a feeling that the secrets he carried as his burden was one he must have shared with the asari. She was the galaxy's most elusive and reputed information broker and had a way of uncovering truths buried beneath layers of misinformation.

 

“Think about it.”

 

She left shortly after that, leaving Garrus to ponder on the one issue he could no longer run away from. Earth was only days away and somewhere, in the system where they took their last stand against the Reapers, was a ghost from his past that refused to stay dead.

 


	3. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As past lovers reunite, her deceptions become the only truths he can trust. Where Garrus once saw the woman he loved, he now only sees the deceit of a stranger. And Shepard has to live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta reading and helping me sort out the issues I had with this chapter. Also, thank you to everyone following the story and commenting. It's encouraging to know you are enjoying this.

Over the last few days, her omni-tool blinked from the urgent messages she was receiving and Shepard already regretted asking to have it returned to her. In the beginning, she had welcomed having another distraction for when she wasn't frustrating her therapist by being uncooperative or disappointing her physiotherapist with her lack of progress. It made the down time between changing her bandages and troubling sleep a little more bearable. That was, until she made an effort to go through all the messages Alliance command forwarded to her.

 

At first, it merely left her feeling uncomfortable each time she read a message from a civilian thanking her for saving Earth. After a while, she had to chase down the burning sensation in her throat as the messages grew increasingly sappy with heart-wrenching tales meant to paint her as the hero she wasn't. She knew why command was doing this: her lack of motivation in her own recovery had Hackett personally interrogating her the week before out of misplaced 'concern'. It would have been different if Anderson had been at the other end of that conversation. But her history with Hackett was purely professional and she had to bite down hard on her own lip to keep from telling him off when his prying got a little too personal.

 

“The Alliance needs you, Commander. Earth needs you,” Admiral Hackett had said. “If you're not going to recover for yourself, do it for the survivors. They need a symbol and you're it, like it or not. Don't give up just yet.”

 

When an urgent message came a few days ago from Hackett, simply titled, “The _Normandy_ ,” Shepard put her omni-tool on silence and gave up reading the messages. She could feel the same, dull ache that seemed to define her waking moments grow stronger at the mention of her old ship. She already knew what it would say: wreckage found, condolences, blah blah blah, stay strong. She was sick of the pity she received from everyone and didn't need to be reminded of it with the confirmed deaths of the only people who mattered to her.

 

Removing her omni-tool, she left it at her bedside table before being wheeled down to her next physio session. The hospital held the same bustling atmosphere as Huerta had, with the exception of being run almost entirely by humans. Some alien staff members were on hand, especially to treat alien soldiers still requiring care, but outside of her asari therapist, Shepard rarely conversed with anyone who was not human.

 

“Ready for today's session, Commander?” the doctor asked, greeting her with a bright smile.

 

“As ready as I'll ever be, doc,” Shepard replied, with a shrug of her shoulders. “What's on the menu?”

 

He scrolled through his datapad before setting it on the nearby counter. “Your vitals have been great, though we wanna make sure we're improving blood flow to your legs. You wiggled your toes in the last two sessions. Let's start from there and work our way up.”

 

The first hour was nothing outside of the ordinary: Shepard deflected most of Dr. Cho's attempts at small talk, merely grunting her consent when he suggested they push her to move her ankles. It was laborious and uncomfortable but she supposed that was all part of the process. On the one hand, the thought of never having to endure this again was almost encouraging enough to put in a little more effort than usual. The ridiculous optimism from her doctor, however, was also enough to put her off from trying.

 

The second hour was a bit more challenging: they equipped Shepard's legs with a synthetic exoskeleton that attached at her waist. The device read the signal sent from her implants in order to help her move. With the assistance of the parallel bars, she would be able to practice walking across a mat. However, every few steps, the device would decrease in power, encouraging her to rely more and more on her own leg muscles. The purpose was to slowly regain control so she could eventually move on her own.

 

Dr. Cho stood outside the bars, prepared to catch her should she overdo it and topple over. The first few attempts, she warned him when the braces' power dropped below 60% and her legs felt too pressured to continue. Holding herself up by her arms, the helplessness on her face was generally enough to get him to reset the legs to maximum power.

 

“I-I don't think I can do it, doctor,” she said, quietly.

 

Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, one drop trailing down the side of her cheek as she tried to hold herself up.

 

“You need to relax, Commander,” the doctor said, soothingly. “You're at 57% power. You don't even have to take a step. Just try lifting your foot for a moment.”

 

She took a deep breath, arms sore and aching. She grunted in frustration when the most she could feel herself do was wiggle her toes inside the synthetic brace.

 

“This is pointless,” she muttered.

 

“Commander Shepard, if you'd just—”

 

“I'm done,” she said, cutting him off with a vicious look. Using her arms, she carried her body to the end of the bars and sank into the wheelchair positioned at the end. Months of physio and all she could do was wiggle her fucking toes. “This is a waste of time.”

 

Dr. Cho looked ready to change her mind when something over her shoulder caught his attention. At least it saved her from having to listen to another one of his damn 'just hang in there' speeches. “Yes, can I help you?”

 

Shepard nearly rolled her eyes. Probably another nurse wanting to 'personally thank her' for saving the stupid galaxy. It happened nearly on a daily basis and each time, Shepard had to smile through her teeth and say some ridiculous line of how she was 'just doing her duty'. She was starting to understand why many actors retired to private planets and space stations.

 

“I was told I could find Commander Shepard here.” Shepard's chest tightened as she heard those familiar vocals, not quite believing he was here. “I'm an old friend of hers. Thought I'd drop by and see how she's doing.”

 

_No...you're dead..._

 

Had she lost her mind? Were her ghosts haunting her outside of her dreams?

 

Her grip on the wheelchair tightened.

 

“I'll give you some privacy,” the doctor said, brightly. He didn't seem to catch the tension in the room. “We'll continue our session later, Commander.”

 

When the doctor left, Shepard slowly turned her wheelchair, swallowing thickly. Sure enough, Garrus Vakarian was standing nervously near the entrance, clad in his usual armor, a similar bewildered expression on his face.

 

“Garrus...you're alive?” she whispered in disbelief.

 

He shuffled his weight from one leg to the other. “I'm hard to kill, Shepard. You should know that.”

 

This had to be her mind playing tricks on her. She had a history of being the only survivor, left to pick up the pieces of what little she had left in her life. It would make sense that the crippling loneliness that followed would make her tempt insanity.

 

Anxious that this was another attempt at her head unleashing its torture on her, she found herself stepping out of the wheelchair, shakily crossing the room on her unused legs. She only made it five steps before the reduced power in the braces caused her legs to buckle. But before she could crumple to the floor, Garrus was catching her, his talons encircling her so he was supporting her weight. Feeling how real he was as she was pressed against him was enough to finally break her.

 

Throwing her arms around his neck, she sobbed into his armor. She didn't care how uncomfortable it was, the entirety of her weight dependent on the hands that steadied her. She could feel his scales beneath her hands, smell his familiar scent. She no longer cared if he was real. She wanted him to be and that was enough.

 

It was a long while before her throat grew hoarse from crying, her body worn down from the loss of raw pain she had been carrying for months. She said nothing as she felt him lift her up carefully and he placed her back in the wheelchair. It wasn't even until she tried to grasp one of his hands and he pulled it from her reach that she was aware of how silent and tense he had gotten.

 

And with just a disappointed look in his eyes, she felt the despair resurface.

 

“Garrus...?”

 

She looked at him questioningly, her voice thick.

 

He took a step back from her, looking off to the side. The hard look on his face told her all she needed: he didn't seem to want to look at her. When he failed to find the right words, he released a sigh.

 

“...if this is about London,” she began.

 

The angry look he shot at her silenced any attempt at an apology.

 

“I'm guessing from your reaction that you didn't read the messages I sent earlier,” Garrus said.

 

Shepard stared at him, cold dread creeping down her spine. But she couldn't think of anything to say that would placate the hurt on his face.

 

“I thought you were dead for months and you couldn't even reply to a message,” Garrus continued, shaking his head. “Almost didn't bother coming today. Thought it would _inconvenience_ you. You have a history of beating the odds, Shepard, but I guess having the decency to let your crew know how you're doing is asking too much.”

 

“I-I've been in recovery. Hackett had forwarded some messages but I didn't think...”

 

She could feel more tears threaten to fall and had to blink them back.

 

Garrus made a dismissive sound with his vocals. “Let's not dance around this. This isn't about some missed messages. Spirits, had you responded, I'd have questioned if it was the same Jane Shepard who put a bullet between Falere's eyes.”

 

Her eyes widened in shock. He hadn't been with her on Lesuss. Liara, in all her disapproving, silent anger must have broken the unspoken vow of silence from what went down and told him about the monastery.

 

“She was a risk,” Shepard said weakly. But in her own head, she was cringing from how pathetic her reasoning sounded.

 

“She was Samara's daughter,” Garrus shot back. The accusatory tone in his vocals had Shepard dropping her eyes to the floor. “But I guess the support of the asari commandos for taking care of their _problem_ was worth spilling the blood of a deceased friend.”

 

She recalled the long talks she had had with the justicar prior to their suicide mission. The centuries of wisdom that caressed every word the asari spoke in their time together. Shepard knew Samara was ashamed of what had become of all her children, maybe would have went to that monastery herself to finish the job if she had made it out of the collector base. But it didn't dim the pain that burst in her chest as Shepard recalled Falere's final moments, the plea to live in solitude before the bullet ended her.

 

She had to grip her hands tightly in her lap as she felt them shake from the memory of the weight of the gun that had fired the kill shot.

 

“There are a lot of things I can live with: I can live with you killing Falere,” Garrus started, though even she could hear the hesitation in his voice. “I don't like it, maybe would have told you to do things differently, had I been there. But I get it. After all, she could have been turned into a damned banshee and those things are a headache to take out.”

 

Shepard felt her stomach drop because she believed him. She believed that he would sacrifice his morals for hers, let her drag him down until he also became haunted by the dead that kept her from having a full night's rest.

 

That he struggled to find understanding as he accused her of everything she had tried to hide from him: that was her legacy.

 

“The genophage sabotage...now, that one is trickier. But given Wreav's thirst for turian and salarian blood, forgivable. I'd have made the same damn deal if Palaven was ground zero for the Reaper assault. A bit of a head's up would have been nice in case we have an angry krogan army invading the Apien Crest in the next decade,” Garrus muttered as an afterthought.

 

She had to shake her head to chase off the horrific image of Eve cradling the dead baby krogan. Those dreams still lingered and there were times she woke up in her bed, sweat covering her skin, and the sound of a thousand screaming krogan echoing in her head. But, how did he know...?

 

“You were in my cabin,” she whispered, mostly to herself. Stupidly, she thought of her drunken state the night she had ended it with Garrus. In her inebriated delirium, she had scrolled through and cried over her personal messages instead of getting rid of anything damaging that could later be used against the Alliance.

 

“We thought you were dead. I was only there to...find something _nice_ to say about you at your memorial,” he said, sarcasm echoing off his vocals. “I made the mistake of finding your personal datapad. Everything incriminating has been deleted. The last thing we need is another war.”

 

They both slipped into an awkward silence, the tension thick enough that Shepard felt like she was choking. She was almost too afraid to breathe since her very presence in this room seemed to ignite an anger in Garrus that she had never seen before.

 

“There are a lot of things I can live with, Shepard. You...becoming this kind of person for the war, I could have lived with that, if you'd let me,” he said, with a rage that seemed to build in opposition to the controlled calm in his voice. “But seeing the woman I love turn her gun on me in the middle of a war zone...there's only so much that I can accept.”

 

There it was. The one word she had never been brave enough to say to him.

 

She relived the betrayal on his face as she fired the shot, the bullets ripping through his damaged shields, blue blood splattering to the mud as he fell to the ground. Not a kill shot but enough to cripple him, to stop him from chasing her to the beam.

 

Silently, she let the tears trickle off her chin. Nothing could assuage the guilt that had her swallowing the burn of bile in her throat.

 

“I don't trust you anymore, Shepard. Spirits, I feel like I don't even know you,” Garrus admitted, looking away from her. “And I don't think there's anything between us worth saving. I...I'm sorry.”

 

When he turned to leave, she desperately reached out and grabbed his hand. He stopped, body tensing, but refused to look at where they were joined.

 

“All of it, Garrus. I...I did it to save you,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “You—you wouldn't back down so I—”

 

“I never asked to be _saved_ , Commander,” he responded, slipping his talons out of her grip. “Especially at gunpoint. And the lies about the genophage...you know I'd never have done what you did.”

 

 _I'd never have shot you. I'd never had lied to you,_ was what he was saying. Her secrets had become her deception, her treachery molding a stranger, someone he no longer looked at with trust but with revulsion. And the truth in it made her reel back in shame.

 

When he tried to leave again, the sudden spark of hurt and anger in her voice stopped him before he made it out the door.

 

“So that's it, Vakarian?” she demanded. “You came here to tell me you love me and to stay the fuck away from you? Has messaging me suddenly become too inconvenient?”

 

“ _Loved_ , Commander,” Garrus corrected. His vocals hit a surprisingly sorrowful note at the confession. “And even if I had said all this by message, you wouldn't have read it.”

 

Knowing there was nothing he wanted to fix between them, that she was already his past, shattered something inside of Shepard that she knew couldn't be repaired with apologies or confessions of her own. She knew she should have been honest, that this was her second chance to make things right, but she was a victim of her own pride.

 

Before leaving the room, Garrus turned to look at her. She wanted to find confusion and indecision in his eyes but instead, she saw the look of someone whose mind was made up. “It took a few weeks before I could walk again after you'd shot me. Another month to get rid of the limp. I hope your recovery is as swift, Commander.”

 

Somehow, Garrus leaving her with one of those platitudes he despised so much hurt more than the silence that followed him once he was gone.

 

 


	4. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They learn the hard way that even when it's over, it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta reading this chapter. As I'm busy the rest of the weekend, I may be a bit late in responding to comments. I am still grateful to everyone following the story and leaving behind feedback. Thank you for your support and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I promise, things start to look up from here on!

There was only one place to go after he had left Shepard in the hospital: straight to the bottom of a bottle of turian brandy. With the Normandy docked and most of the crew taking advantage of shore leave, Garrus was left alone to raid the lounge stores. Tali had left half a bottle behind from her drunken episode after Horizon and when he finished with that, there was also the bottle he had picked up back on Palaven.

 

Once the first bottle was finished and he had opened the second, he noticed, to his inebriated bemusement, that he was joined by a nonplussed Prothean in the lounge.

 

“You know what the best part is about getting rid of old baggage?” he slurred, throwing back the rest of the shot he had poured for himself.

 

Javik looked anything but amused by the nonsensical ramblings of his companion. “I neither care nor desire to ask what in the hell you're rambling about, primitive. Yet I have the feeling you will tell me anyway.”

 

“See, that's what I like about you, Javik,” Garrus continued, steadying himself by leaning on the counter before he toppled over. “You're a cold bastard but at least you're an honest one.”

 

As Garrus drunkenly patted the Prothean on the shoulder, Javik narrowed his four eyes. “...Refrain from touching me, turian.”

 

“I'm a free man!” Garrus said, forcing a chuckle. If Javik was giving him a murderous look and silently plotting his death, Garrus was too distracted to notice. “The galaxy is mine and...plenty of fish...to eat...or whatever humans say. You know, that one about freedom and being a fish....”

 

“I don't see how eating fish will solve your issues with your mate,” Javik grumbled.

 

“Shes' not my mate,” Garrus muttered, pouring another shot in the tumbler.

 

“In my cycle, when one's mate was uncooperative, you threatened to launch them out of the airlock or abandon them in Reaper-controlled space until they did their duty and submitted to your will.”

 

“...s'that why you haven't been staying in Liara's cabin recently?” Garrus asked.

 

Angrily, Javik grabbed one of the asari liquors and poured himself a glass.

 

Hours later, when Garrus stumbled into Shepard's cabin, he didn't even think of what he was doing. Shedding his armor and tossing it messily across the floor, he flopped down on her bed and groaned. The entire world was spinning, he couldn't focus on where up and down began, only felt the sheets beneath his talons, smelled the faint trace of her that lingered even six months after they had last lay together. Curling up against the pillows, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

When he woke up in the morning, naked and tangled in her sheets, he wearily recalled the harsh words he had said the day before, even as it went against how sickeningly good it had felt to have her in his arms again. He had become as good at lying as she had, because the only thing worse than losing her was letting her have her way with him again.

 

Garrus Vakarian was a fool if he believed he didn't still love her.

 

He was an even bigger fool because he couldn't stop.

 

*

 

“-should watch these vids I have saved! Keelah, I thought I'd lost them when my console shut down after the blast,” Tali mused, scrolling through the files on her omni-tool.

 

“You mean to tell me that all the mass relays were being destroyed, the _Normandy_ was crashing, and you were worried you'd never see _Fleet and Flotilla_ again?” Shepard asked, raising a brow.

 

“Goddess, Shepard, don't get her—!”

 

“ _I'm as free as the dust in the solar wind_ ,” Tali said, dramatically. When Liara dropped her head in her hands and Shepard only looked at Tali in confusion, the quarian gasped. “Shepard, don't tell me you've never seen it.”

 

Shepard caught the warning shake of Liara's head out of the corner of her eye, the asari looking incredibly terrified of how Shepard would respond. The three women were in Shepard's room, Shepard sitting in her wheelchair while Liara was on the leather sofa. Tali was standing near the flat screen, prepared to upload one of her vids after she'd suggested they watch something.

 

“Uh...no?”

 

Liara's groan and Tali's excited squeal let Shepard know that was the wrong thing to say.

 

“Then we must watch it! I have made it my personal mission, as admiral of the quarian fleet, to introduce this important relic of my culture to all alien species!” Tali exclaimed, her fingers flying over her omni-tool as she uploaded the vid. “I made everyone on the _Normandy_ watch it with me on the way to Sol.”

 

“Don't remind me, “ Liara muttered. “I had to hear about it from Javik for days.”

 

“Oh?” Shepard asked, her lips tugging in a small smirk. “Something you're not telling me, T'Soni?”

 

“He seemed to really take to it,” Tali babbled. “He said he couldn't decide if he would rather watch it again or be raised among the _densorin_ , whatever that means.”

 

“The densorin are an extinct race that practiced the ritual sacrifice of their young to the Reapers,” Liara said.

 

Tali paused for a moment. “...no offense, Liara, but your boyfriend's interest in child sacrifice is a little off-putting...”

 

Shepard had to hide her laugh behind her hand, especially on seeing the deep blush that filled Liara's cheeks. In the few weeks since her old crew had docked in London, there had been non stop meetings and lunches as they came and visited her every day. Things were still tense with her and James, the wary looks he gave her always reminding her of London, and even with Joker, who was taking a lot of time in accepting EDI's termination, there were only a handful of awkward conversations between them.

 

But it wasn't nearly as awkward as the un-named turian everyone made a careful effort to omit from conversation. Well, everyone except Javik, who had so graciously told Shepard a few days after they arrived in London, “Commander, if I have to endure one more evening of your mate drinking unpalatable brandy and contemplating the relationship between mating and fish consumption, I will personally throw him out of the airlock the next time we are in space. I demand you do something about this!”

 

The mortified looks on everyone's faces hadn't compared to the horror on Liara's as she roughly grabbed Javik and dragged him out of the room. “We'll talk about this later,” she had hissed at him, followed by his, “I refuse to be demoted to the lower deck again, asari!”

 

The callous remark had stung at the time but looking back on it, Shepard realized she had been missing something that had been right in front of her all of these weeks.

 

“So you and Javik...” she began.

 

Liara looked away uncomfortably. “I, uh, hadn't wanted to say anything yet but...yes.”

 

“My god, I'm such a bosh'tet,” Tali said. “I didn't mean to—”

 

“No, it's quite alright, Tali,” Liara said, smiling reassuringly at her friend. “I had to let Shepard know some time.”

 

Liara looked at Shepard apologetically. “With everything going on, I didn't want to...well, that is, I wasn't sure how to tell you about...us.”

 

She could see the guilt on the asari's face but given how Shepard had treated Liara and...him, last year, she couldn't be angry with her, even if there were some residual feelings left from their falling out.

 

Reaching over the arm of the couch, Shepard squeezed Liara's hand. “It's alright, Liara. I'm happy for you. I mean, he's not exactly the sensitive type you usually go for...”

 

“He complains every time there's a change in temperature, atmospheric pressure, rations, crew...” Liara listed off, with an annoyed look on her face. “And if you try and tell him to be reasonable, he goes on a rant about 'his cycle'. He's about the most 'sensitive' being I've ever met.”

 

Shepard laughed. “You're right. He's perfect for you.”

 

Liara pretended to be insulted by the comment but had a hard time hiding her smile. It had been years since Shepard had shared a bed with the asari and while she deeply cared for her friend, there was no longer the resentment that characterized the tension between them over the last two years. She had been hurt when she had tried to go to Liara for help against the Collectors and when Liara refused, it had made it easier to find _comfort_ in someone else.

 

She had expected to find the same, easy lust and companionship with him. What Shepard hadn't expected was to fall as hard as she did. And now, she was paying the price for pushing away the only person she had ever loved unconditionally.

 

Seeing the troubled look on her face, Tali immediately changed the topic. “You know...maybe we should watch something a bit less...serious. How about Blasto?”

 

Even Liara seemed relieved at the suggestion. “I haven't seen Blasto in years.”

 

“I never did get a chance to see _Blasto 6: Partners in Crime_ ,” Shepard mused.

 

“Then you ladies are in luck!” Tali declared, transmitting the vid from her omni-tool to the screen.

 

Once Tali joined Liara on the couch, the three friends fell into a comfortable silence, one that came surprisingly easy even after the way Shepard had distanced herself from everyone before the final assault. Without the stress of the war, a weight had been lifted and knowing that she had another chance to repair the damage made it easier to wake up every day.

 

It didn't silence the angry voices that invaded her sleep. Or the guilt that permanently resided in her chest. But it was a start.

 

*

 

“No need to go to Dr. D'Raela's office, Commander.”

 

Shepard was already in her wheelchair, prepared to make the trip to the lower floor and visit the Psychiatry ward, when Dr. Chakwas entered her room. While she had been visited numerous times by the _Normandy's_ doctor, purely as a guest since Karin was on shore leave, it hadn't stopped Dr. Chakwas from occasionally poking about and intruding on Dr. Michel's daily checkups. Dr. Michel, however, often encouraged the senior doctor and deferred to her if she happened to be in the room.

 

Today, though, she hadn't been expecting Chakwas at all and Shepard was already running late for her therapy appointment.

 

“She finally gave up on me?” Shepard asked, her voice a bit too hopeful.

 

“Better. I've been assigned as your therapist since you've been... _unresponsive_ to Dr. D'Raela's methods.”

 

“Sounds like a nice way of saying 'uncooperative-pain-in-my-ass'.”

 

Dr. Chakwas shrugged. “You said it, not me. Shall we?”

 

She indicated to the living area at the opposite end of the private room. Shepard nodded and wheeled herself so she was positioned across from the recliner, with the coffee table separating her and Dr.Chakwas, who seated herself in the chair. Glancing over at her old friend, Shepard couldn't help but say, albeit suspiciously, “I didn't know you were trained in psychiatry.”

 

Back on the _Normandy_ _SR1_ , they had Kelly Chambers, who conducted all the psych evaluations on the crew. As far as Shepard recalled, Dr. Chakwas was a rather skilled surgeon, with additional training in alien biology.

 

“It isn't my specialization but given your reluctance to work with Dr. D'Raela and our history aboard the _Normandy_ , Dr. Michel was hoping you would be more willing to open up to me,” Dr. Chakwas answered.

 

“Not that I don't appreciate it, doc, but you know I'm not really the touchy-feely type...” Shepard started.

 

“Relax, Shepard. I'm not going to pry into your childhood or ask '... _And how does that make you feel.'_ Well, maybe a little,” Dr. Chakwas said, looking down at the datapad she held in her hands. “But we'll keep it simple.”

 

Nervously tucking a strand of her short hair behind her ear, Shepard tried to calm the nerves that had her stomach doing flips. She never felt comfortable at these sessions, not even with someone she knew as well as Dr. Chakwas. How would anyone understand how strange it felt to be brought back from the dead? Or how sudden, loud noises made a rush of panic grip her chest until she felt like she couldn't breathe? Or the way her heart pounded frantically as she awoke in the pitch dark in her room, her hospital gown soaked, and her voice a strangled whimper as she chased the nightmares she revisited on almost a nightly basis?

 

“You're sure you wouldn't be more comfortable lying down?” the doctor asked.

 

Shepard didn't even spare a glance at the couch. “If it's alright with you, I'd rather we do it this way.”

 

“Sure thing, Commander. Why don't we begin with your sleeping patterns? Are you getting enough rest?”

 

Shepard tensed at the question, pausing to carefully frame her response. “...As best as can be expected. I don't really like hospitals.”

 

“There is concern that you've been frequently dehydrated in your morning checkups,” Dr. Chakwas added, bringing up Shepard's test results on her data pad. “Some mornings, you exhibit signs of hypertension. Do you find it difficult to sleep at night?”

 

Dr. D'Raela had followed a similar line of questioning in some of their sessions and always, Shepard deflected with muttering or a roll of her eyes. But seeing the no-nonsense look on the doctor's face, she dared not try the same method.

 

“I have...dreams...sometimes,” she said, quietly. “About the war.”

 

She swallowed hard at the admission and looked down at her folded hands. They were already starting to shake.

 

“You don't have to elaborate if you're not ready, Commander,” the doctor assured her. “For now, I can prescribe a higher dose of your evening medication, to help you sleep better.”

 

“Thanks. I-I guess we can try that.”

 

Dr. Chakwas typed something into the datapad before continuing. “Dr. D'Raela noticed a marked change in your physical and mental recovery since being reunited with the _Normandy_ crew. How would you describe the experience?”

 

Shepard snorted, folding her arms over her chest. “Really, doc?”

 

“Bear with me, Shepard. Like it or not, I am required to ask about your relationships.”

 

The amused twinkle in Dr. Chakwas' eyes wasn't lost on Shepard. In many ways, this was no different than the times she would trade gossip with the doctor in the medbay, especially back when they were working for Cerberus.

 

“I'm not sure what to say: Tali's still obsessed with her drama vids, Javik's an ass, Liara's taken her obsession with Protheans to a new level, and Traynor spent the last week tearing London apart to replace her Cision Pro Mark 4 toothbrush,” Shepard said. “I'd say things are pretty normal. Kaidan's in command of the _Normandy_ , for now. So I guess that's different.”

 

“That's...not quite what I was asking, Commander,” Dr. Chakwas said. “I mean how is your relationship with your crew? I noticed you failed to mention Jeff, James, and Garrus, in your initial response.”

 

This was definitely one of those questions that made her dislike these sessions. In the aftermath of the Reaper war, it was hard to look any of them in the eye, knowing the part she'd played in adding a bit of misery to their lives.

 

“Vega's still angry I took him out of the field in London,” Shepard admitted, though it was only a half-truth. “Anderson—” she had to pause at the swell of emotion that made her voice waver, “...he told us to make it to the Conduit. Vega's already got survivor's guilt from a mission gone south years ago. I think I made it worse.”

 

“Has he come by to see you?”

 

“A few times. I think he spends most days at the Alliance training facility on site.” She went silent for a moment, before quietly adding, “He needs time.”

 

“Agreed. It's also been a shock for the crew. We spent almost 5 months believing you were dead. With time, I'm certain Mr. Vega will come around.”

 

Dr. Chakwas placed the datapad down on the coffee table and leaned back in the recliner. “And Mr. Moreau?”

 

“He's been by but...I think he's still taking EDI's death really hard,” Shepard replied. That familiar tremor began in her fingers and she had to clasp her hands together to stop the shaking. She replayed the images of EDI from the time she was in her coma, the synthetic's cold eyes without remorse as she pressed her pistol to Shepard's forehead...

 

“You blame yourself for EDI,” Dr. Chakwas observed.

 

“I...” Shepard started but with the truth already out there, the denial she had prepared sounded pathetic in her head. “...I fired the Crucible knowing it would destroy all synthetics.”

 

“And you did the right thing. Do you think EDI would have stopped you, if she knew it was the only way to save us all?”

 

It was a long minute before she admitted what she already knew about their compassionate, synthetic friend. “No. She'd never take the risk.”

 

“Mr. Moreau knows as well as any of us the cost of war. I can assure you that his behavior towards you is no different than his behavior with the rest of the crew. He makes his wisecracks and jokes but he doesn't open up easily,” Dr. Chakwas said. Wryly, she added, “Reminds me of a certain commander I know.”

 

“And here I was thinking I was passing the 'touchy-feely' part of this with flying colors,” Shepard remarked. “You wound me, doctor.”

 

“You make it too easy,” the doctor said. The lightness in her blue eyes was gone a moment later as she regarded Shepard seriously. “EDI is not your fault. I know it. Jeff knows it. He's still grieving but he doesn't hold you any more accountable than the rest of us.”

 

“...you sure about that?”

 

Shepard recalled one of the last conversations she'd had with Joker, just after Thessia. Frustrated with how out of control she felt about the VI situation, she had unleashed her anger on Joker when he made another one of his ridiculous jokes. When he told her he was just trying to get her to ease up, expressing concern for how stressed she had been recently, she had said, “ _When I want a damn pep talk, I'll ask for one. Otherwise, you're my pilot, not my therapist. Are we clear?”_

 

Maybe he didn't blame her for EDI. But the hurt on his face, and the tension leading into the assault on London between them, still lingered in the terse way he asked how she was doing the few times he had visited her.

 

“Commander...”

 

Shepard shook away the thought, looking away from Dr. Chakwas sadly. “I...think it's another one of those things that will take time...”

 

Dr. Chakwas sighed. “Time heals all things, or so I'm told. I hope you and Mr. Moreau will settle whatever has been making you two avoid each other.”

 

Shepard was almost surprised that Dr. Chakwas picked up on the problems she purposely omitted. Then again, the doctor had years of experience in dealing with Shepard evading everything from routine checkups to inquiries over her well being.

 

“There's no eloquent way to transition into this part of the conversation...”

 

Shepard already knew what the doctor was going to ask before saying his name. “I—I'm not comfortable talking about him, doc.”

 

_Loved, Commander._

 

Her eyes misted as she tightened her grip on the arms of the wheelchair.

 

“I'll spare you the torture of continuing this conversation, if you're not ready,” the doctor replied. “Though, if I may leave one piece of advice before we end today's session: sometimes, the hardest part of repairing a damaged relationship is swallowing one's pride and being the first to extend the olive branch. It doesn't take much; even the smallest of gestures can yield the best of results.”

 

Retrieving her datapad , Dr. Chakwas got up and placed a hand on Shepard's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take care, Commander.”

 

It was for a long while after the doctor left that Shepard pondered over her words. Sure, she was stubborn and she still refused to apologize for doing what she did, even if it made her hate herself. But she also knew that this time, if she was going to fix things between them, she needed to be the first one to put in the effort.

 

How many times had Garrus come to her trying to work things out last year? How many times had he forgiven her barbs and remained foolishly loyal to her? How many messages had he sent, asking how she was doing, only to have them ignored?

 

_...even the smallest of gestures..._

 

Struck with an idea, Shepard opened her omni-tool and began skimming through her messages.

 


	5. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus tries to forget her the only way he knows how. Shepard learns the meaning of 'regret'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta reading and providing the support and encouragement I needed to post this story.

The first few nights after their encounter ended in a drunken haze with him waking up the following mornings in her cabin. By the fifth night, Garrus took his drinking to a dextro pub he found in downtown London, hoping that if he got drunk outside of where everything reminded him of _her_ , he'd at least have the decency to wake up face down in the gutter and wreaking of booze like any decent person would.

 

Somehow, it seemed less pathetic than curling himself in her sheets every night.

 

As luck would have it, his decision to become a social drunk provided new opportunities to forgo the shame that drinking alone invited. So when a female turian exchanged coy glances with him at the pub, he found yet another way to forget about Shepard temporarily.

 

“You new around here, Scars?” she asked, sliding onto the stool next to him.

 

Already halfway through his third drink, Garrus had to chase off the strong buzz that had his mouth moving back in a stupid grin. Instead, he scoffed softly, indicating to the barkeep for two shots of brandy. “Scars? You know, a good friend of mine always calls me that.”

 

“It suits you,” she said, her vocals hitting a delicious purr. And damn, has it really been that long since Garrus heard a sound like that directed at him? He could vaguely recall a time when it would have made him completely weak.

 

Leaning in closer, she picked up one of the shot glasses, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “You know what they say about a man with scars.”

 

“I can think of at least five answers involving vigilante turians who have taken a rocket to the face,” Garrus responded, picking up his own shot glass. “Something tells me that's not where this is going.”

 

“Sounds like you've been spending too much time around these humans. I think it's time you got _reacquainted_ with your own kind.”

 

The desire was evident in the softness of her talons brushing his as they clinked their shot glasses together. He watched drunkenly as she slowly swallowed the liquor, the scales on her exposed throat seeming to glitter in the low lighting of the pub. It had been a long time since Garrus had been given such an invitation from one of his own but he hadn't forgotten how much he desired women of his own species. If anything, it was almost strange that he had become attracted to Shepard at all.

 

But when she lay her ungloved hand on his exposed wrist, her smaller talons rubbing almost intimately against his scales, he felt a cool wave wash over him as he came to a startling conclusion: all of this felt _wrong._ And it felt wrong because she was not _her._

 

Abruptly, he turned down the turian, threw a handful of credits onto the pub counter, and stumbled into the bright fog of Trafalgar square. He woke up hours later to the grime soaking his civilian clothes and the muttered ramblings of a deranged human declaring the 'End is nigh at the fall of the sky gods'.

 

The experience was a sobering one, and not just literally. He found nothing but more misery when the bottom of a pitcher yielded only the reminder of how empty he felt without her. It wasn't about missing intimacy: he missed Jane Shepard, his friend, the woman he'd gladly give his life for, who he had respected and trusted above any one else in this miserable fucking galaxy.

 

And yet, every time he took off his armor, he saw the deep scars in his shin and found himself itching once more for the escape only alcohol could provide.

 

Instead, he began finding distraction in other things. Dr. Michel had been thrilled when she saw him at the hospital and they had had lunch together a number of times over the last few weeks. When he wasn't being dragged out to explore the city with one of the crew (he still wasn't over how frustrating it was shopping with Traynor for a damned toothbrush), he was locked in the battery, working on calibrations. Javik sometimes stopped by to mutter about, ' _females of this cycle_ ' but Garrus, fearing the wrath of the galaxy's Shadow Broker, thought it best to not give the Prothean any ideas in handling Liara. He saw Tali aboard the ship often, vaguely mumbling to herself as she found a new home in the AI Core. He wasn't certain what she was doing there but she was often distracted enough that he didn't feel it appropriate to ask.

 

His omni-tool pinged, letting him know that he had received another message. Garrus sighed, ignoring it to type in more commands into the console. He hadn't received many messages since coming to Earth, outside of a few irate exchanges with his father, forwarded through Alliance communications. It seemed the primarch had passed on news of Garrus' promotion and now his father was more than a little disappointed that Garrus was a system away with no immediate plans to travel to the Apien Crest. Garrus had tried to ignore the messages but after the third one, he had found himself at Alliance headquarters seeking access to one of the few consoles capable of relaying data between the systems.

 

Now, whenever his omni-tool made that godforsaken sound, he wanted to take it out for target practice if only to delay further tension between him and his father as he dodged around the question of 'coming home'.

 

The device made another noise, blinking to let him know he had unread messages. And again. And again, moments later.

 

“Spirits, does the man have nothing better to do,” Garrus mumbled to himself.

 

Weighing on the side of caution, he stopped what he was doing and opened his omni-tool. He was (mostly) certain his father was being overzealous in his _recent_ updates (truthfully, these would have been sent at least a week before, since that was roughly the time it took to send data without the mass relays to bounce information) but there was also the possibility of the primarch contacting him or even Solana.

 

His face plates shifted in surprise as he saw who the messages were from.

 

Commander Jane Shepard.

 

Even more surprising, the messages were replies to those he had sent back in 2186.

 

...what was she doing?

 

A talon hovered over the command to delete the latest message. Instead, he put the omni-tool on silent and returned to his calibrations.

 

Minutes later, he received another message. And then another.

 

He tried to pretend his curiosity wasn't piqued, as he was reminded once more of how much he missed her. But the information on the console in front of him became harder to focus on each time his eyes dropped to the blinking light on his omni-tool.

 

Giving up, he swallowed whatever hurt pride he felt and opened the first message she had sent him.

 

 _Hey, Shepard. It's great to be back on the_ Normandy _. Thanks for the intel on reunion protocols. Now I know what to do next time one of us is on lockdown for 6 months._

 

_\- G_

 

_Re: Good to see you._

 

_If I wasn't such an asshole, I would have shown you the proper protocol on reunions._

 

_\- Shepard_

 

He made a dismissive sound that rumbled in his vocals. Well, that was putting it bluntly. She had shuffled awkwardly on her feet and evaded his attempt at embracing her. It had left him thinking he was being out of line, that he had overestimated what their connection was. It hadn't hurt him as much as the uncertainty she expressed moments later.

 

He didn't want to be reminded of how everything between them had gone to hell but he found himself clicking on the next message.

 

_Hey, Shepard. I've missed our talks. You forget where I hang out? Come see me in the battery when you've got a moment._

 

_\- G_

 

_Re: Wanna chat?_

 

_I miss our talks, too. I regret not going to see you. Sure could have used the pep talk._

 

_\- Shepard_

 

The fact that she addressed this in the present tense was not lost on him. It made something in his chest ache.

 

He went through the rest of the messages, each one conveying similar regrets over the time lost between them. It filled him with a heaviness that was almost suffocating. It shouldn't be this hard between them. It had never been this hard before she closed herself off from everyone.

 

When he got to the last response, from a message he had sent after they had entered the Sol system, he was swallowing thickly to keep his hands steady.

 

 _Hey, Shepard. The_ Normandy's _in Sol. By now, you must have heard from Palaven that we survived the blast._

 

_I'm not sure how I feel about all of this. Put more bluntly, about you. We need to talk. Should I stop by?_

 

_The crew's happy to know you're alive._

 

_\- G_

 

_Re: We made it_

 

_If it's not too late, I'd like to try that talk again._

 

_I miss you._

 

_\- Shepard_

 

He knew he should delete it. Every time she handed him an offering of peace, he found himself drinking her poison and becoming a victim once more to her abusive cycle. He was better than this. He deserved better.

 

But that didn't change how much he wanted to believe her.

 

*

 

He told himself he'd think on it, spend a few days mulling over what she'd said in her messages. But by the next morning, his feet had already made up his mind for him as he exited the battery to make his way over to the elevator.

 

He found Tali leaning against the kitchen counter as he walked by, arms folded over her chest.

 

“I believe she has physio this morning,” the quarian said.

 

Garrus was taken aback at how quickly she had deduced where he was going. “What makes you think I'm going to the hospital?”

 

“Unless there's something out here that needs _calibrating,_ you only leave the battery to eat or escape Javik,” Tali pointed out. “Javik and Liara went to see Big Ben and I don't see you eating.”

 

“...and I don't see you in the AI Core,” Garrus shot back. Suspiciously, he asked, “What have you been doing in there, Tali?”

 

Tali tensed at that, mumbled something about _programming_ and scurried off towards the medbay.

 

Once he got to the hospital, he was already regretting the impulsiveness that had him strolling through the physiotherapy ward. His nerves made each step he took feel like gravity was pressing him into the ground and it took a lot of resolve to not give into the panic and return to the _Normandy_. He was still hurt and bitter, not a good combination for avoiding another argument, especially given Shepard's aversion to the word _sorry._ But he wasn't the kind of person who put personal pride before making amends, particularly if the other party was offering it first.

 

Then again, he had never been in a position where someone he had trusted had used him so carelessly for sex and then shot him on the battlefield.

 

It was frustratingly complicated. But so was Shepard.

 

He easily found the room Dr. Cho used for his patients, taking Tali's word at face value and heading straight there. Sure enough, Shepard was once more working on improving her legs. But instead of using the synthetic exoskeleton to help her move, she was holding the entirety of her weight on the parallel bars, slowly applying more and more pressure to her legs as she tried to stand without help. He could see the defined muscles in her arms, straining under the stress of holding herself up. She no longer looked as frail as she had nearly a month before, her thin face revealing more bone than cheek, when he had first visited her here.

 

“You're doing great, Commander,” the doctor enthused. “Just a bit more...”

 

He brightened as he noticed Garrus lingering in the doorway. “And it seems one of your crew has come by.”

 

When Shepard looked over her shoulder, the surprise on her face made her arms give out and she toppled into the bar.

 

Garrus was already crossing the room, though he knew he wouldn't make it in time. Instead, Dr. Cho was already helping her back into a standing position.

 

“Just getting a head start tripping into things,” Shepard said. “Like zero gravity training. Gotta prepare my legs for all the bruises they'll be getting once they start moving again.”

 

“You could just stick to dancing, Shepard,” Garrus offered, his chest tight even as his tone remained light. “Or that thing you do that you call _dancing._ You falling on your ass each time you bust a move would be an improvement.”

 

“This insubordination right here is why we keep stocking the _Normandy_ with shitty dextro rations. You'll need to work on that famous Vakarian charm if you want the military grade stuff they carry on the turian fleets.”

 

“I thought you said Traynor was in charge of that?” Garrus asked.

 

“There are some perks to playing nice with the commander,” Shepard said easily, her tone bordering on the casual flirtation she had used so often with him back before the Reaper war.

 

It was hard consolidating the woman in front of him, free of the scars the implants had left on her, with the one who had told him quite easily how little he meant to her. But he could see that even beneath their banter, there was a sadness in Jane's eyes that made her careful smile look as staged as he had wanted to believe her viciousness towards him had been.

 

If he looked into those eyes long enough, he almost believed the woman he loved still resided there.

 

“I can step out for a moment if you need it, Commander,” Dr. Cho offered, taking the hint when the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. “Would you like me to help you back into your chair?”

 

“Nah, I've got it.”

 

Shepard shimmied her body to the end of the bars, lowering herself easily into the chair. It was obvious she had had a lot of practice with this but still, the doctor waited until she was comfortably settled before taking his leave.

 

It was a long moment as the two ex-lovers looked awkwardly away from each other, each not quite brave enough to break the silence first. Deciding to give her a break, he took it upon himself to ease the tension between them.

 

“I got your messages,” he started.

 

The trepidation in her voice almost surprised him. “I, uh, thought it was time I replied. Better late than never.”

 

When he didn't say anything, she added, “...It's just a stupid human saying.”

 

He sighed. This was a lot harder than he thought. “Jane...”

 

“I read all of them, Garrus. Even back then,” she interjected. “You don't know how hard it was to not respond, or to go see you in the battery—”

 

“Then why didn't you?” he demanded. “Nobody was stopping you.”

 

“You don't understand, Garrus. I-I couldn't be everyone's friend and the leader the galaxy needed to win that damn war,” she responded, frustration making her voice waver. “The Alliance needed Commander Shepard, not Jane.”

 

“Too bad,” Garrus said, his vocals thrumming with bitterness. “Because I loved Jane.”

 

“I...” she started, blinking as she looked away from him. “I know.”

 

“Do you even regret London?”

 

They both knew what he was asking, both haunted by their own version of what went down. But the one truth that remained stark against the static of the war that had waged around them was that this was the final thread torn from the seam that had once held them together.

 

Garrus feared her answer far more than he had feared the alternative, which would have ended with him another nameless corpse in a forgotten battlefield.

 

“Do I regret removing you from the field?” she clarified. “Never. You may be shit at following orders, Vakarian, and I'm sure there's a healthy dose of blame to be dished out on me for rubbing off on you. But I don't regret you being alive. Hell, I'd make the same damn mistakes again if it means you're standing here in front of me.”

 

“Shepard...” Garrus began, the warning in his voice evidence enough of how much he wasn't liking her answer.

 

“I don't ask for much, Garrus,” Shepard continued, her voice thick. “Never even accepted that damned loft Anderson tried to pawn off on me in the Presidium. But I wanted you out of there, alive. Can't you let me have this one thing?”

 

After a long moment of silence, Garrus found himself unable to hide his own bitterness. “ _Sorry_ 's not a word unique to the turian language, Shepard.”

 

“I'm not going to apologize for not losing you,” Shepard said, her resolve heavier than the waver in her voice. “But I am sorry for all the shit I said to push you away. For hurting you. You never stopped being important to me, Garrus.”

 

He wanted to ask her what she meant by that but found himself not quite sure if he believed her. It was easier to accept that she had stopped caring for him, using him only because she needed a less destructive outlet for all the frustration she carried into battle. He had once been her stress relief and long after any of her affection for him died, he continued to go to her because the one thing he had been too cowardly to let go of was her.

 

Well, not anymore.

 

“I want to make things right between us,” she whispered. “Like it used to be.”

 

There was an honesty to her words that he hadn't heard in a long time. Still, he wasn't going to give in.

 

“Please.”

 

It would be easy to walk away from her, to leave her buried in his past. Where she belonged. Once his trust was broken, he didn't give second chances. Sidonis may have lived but that was only because Garrus liked to conveniently forget he hadn't taken the shot when Shepard stepped in his line of sight. She was always deciding everything for him, dictating the terms of their relationship. He had lived too long in her shadow and would no longer follow her blindly.

 

This time, he was deciding what he would do, on his terms.

 

He looked at her, sad and body broken, confined to her chair. A price she paid for saving them all.

 

 _It's too late for that,_ he was ready to say.

 

It was the pain in her eyes that had him swallowing the rejection sitting on the tip of his tongue.

 

 _Walk away,_ he tried telling himself, his anger thrumming through his blood with the same veracity as her insults that had once torn him down.

 

But seeing how difficult this was for both of them, how much they lost to the invasion...

 

Garrus was tired of being angry.

 

Spirits help him, he was choosing her.

 

“It may take some time, Shepard,” he began. “And I don't think we'll have what we had before. But we were friends once and...I think that's worth working on.”

 

It wasn't the answer she was looking for but any disappointment she felt was hidden by a carefully placed smile. “Right. Friends. I'd like that.”

 

As a gesture of goodwill, he cautiously placed one of his hands over hers. It almost hurt to ignore the familiar spark he felt charging across his scales, the effect she still had on him.

 

Dr. Cho arrived not long after.

 

“Ready to continue, Commander?” Dr. Cho asked, setting aside his datapad.

 

“If it's alright with you, doctor, I'd like to stick around,” Garrus said. “The commander's going to need all the help she can get if we're going to whip her back into shape.”

 

“Keep it up, Vakarian, and I'm assigning you to the cargo hold with Vega once I get my ship back,”Shepard warned.

 

“Vega's informed me that below deck is where the real _fiesta_ is, whatever that means.”

 

“Then I guess you wouldn't mind letting Javik handle the calibrations.”

 

The horrified look on Garrus' face let Shepard know exactly what he thought of that.

 

As the doctor continued Shepard's exercises, Garrus did his best to offer his assistance and they fell into a slightly awkward, but growing slowly more comfortable, pattern of trivial banter. It wasn't quite what either of them had expected, rebuilding their friendship from all the damage the Reaper war had left, but at least it was a start.

 


	6. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard overcomes her jealousy and the Normandy crew is reunited with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will begin this by thanking [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta reading once again. She has been incredibly helpful over these last few months and without her, I wouldn't be posting this.
> 
> To all the readers, thank you, as always, for your input. I hope you'll also enjoy this chapter!

Time had a way of mending broken things and if Shepard was ignorant enough to not read between the lines, she could almost believe that nothing had ever changed between her and Garrus. He often preferred visiting her while she was doing physio, his light teasing a careful mask to the tension that underlay these inane exchanges. She knew why he preferred being there when she had the diversion of overcoming her temporary paralysis: the presence of Dr. Cho kept emotions from running too high, helped them avoid being too honest at risk of losing face with an audience.

 

It hurt that he didn't trust himself alone with her. But Shepard knew what she was given was more than she deserved.

 

So she trained her body, he dished out the banter, and if a small blush crept into her cheeks when she stumbled and he was catching her, righting her with a protective arm that reminded her all too painfully how unwavering his loyalty was, she had to swallow her sadness and voice her gratitude for his remaining by her side. But all the gratitude in the world couldn't chase the silent shame she experienced each time she recalled all she'd done to him.

 

It was one morning at the end of her physio, in one of the few times she found herself alone with the turian, that she ignored the voice in her head telling her to stop before she made an ass of herself and found herself asking, “Wanna go for lunch? I know hospital cafeteria doesn't scream fine cuisine but it's gotta be better than the stuff we keep on board the _Normandy_.”

 

She could see his body stiffen, his mandibles flicker with surprise at her request. The hope that he would accept was quickly dashed the longer he took to respond.

 

“I already have plans, Shepard,” he answered, his tone coldly polite. “Dr. Michel has offered to take me to this place famous for its turian dishes for our weekly lunch. Maybe some other time?”

 

_Weekly lunch?_

 

Why hadn't her doctor ever mentioned this?

 

Jealousy left a bitter taste in her mouth, but Shepard knew it wasn't her place to judge or draw conclusions. Instead, she forced a smile. “Sure. Some other time.”

 

When Garrus moved to help wheel her out of the room, she raised her hands, indicating for him to stop. “It's alright. I've got it. You don't want to be late for your lunch.”

 

She was already moving her wheelchair out into the hallway, trying to convince herself that the briskness in her voice had nothing to do with the turian's afternoon plans with her doctor.

 

*

 

Shepard's foul mood wasn't pacified when Dr. Michel came by later for her daily checkup. With all her bandages removed and her body, at least superficially, completely healed, these meetings were growing shorter each day. Shepard tried to keep the chill out of her voice when answering the doctor's questions but it still didn't stop her from prying into affairs that were not her business.

 

“Enjoy your lunch?”

 

Dr. Michel was a little taken aback by the question, probably because Shepard had never made an effort to get to know her personally. But the smile on the doctor's face did little to pacify the growing sting in her chest. “Yes. It was quite wonderful. They have a fantastic selection of Palaven cuisine, even some quarian dishes. I could forward you the destination, if you'd like to try it with Tali some time.”

 

That one of her dextro crew was purposely omitted from the suggestion did little to melt the ice in her tone. “I'll think about it.”

 

With a few taps on the doctor's omni-tool, Shepard's was already pinging with the assumed information.

 

The doctor went back to reviewing her datapad, either oblivious or indifferent to the odd tension that accompanied the following lapse in conversation. But soon, she was ending it with a remark Shepard hadn't expected.

 

“Garrus had nothing but praise when he mentioned your physio sessions.”

 

“Really?” Shepard was surprised her name came up at all.

 

“Said his commander is one tough woman to take down,” Dr. Michel continued. “And he expects you'll be back on your feet and cleaning up the galaxy before the year's end. An Earth year, he added, though I have no idea why he felt the need to clarify that.”

 

Shepard was unable to hide a small smile.

 

When the doctor was finished, she set aside her datapad and looked at Shepard with a sad smile on her face. “You're a tough woman to compete with, Commander. I gave up trying a long time ago.”

 

And if that didn't make Shepard feel like an asshole, she wasn't sure what else would.

 

*

 

Even as things were slowly improving with her and Garrus, there were still other relationships that needed repairing. She opened up more to Dr. Chakwas, describing her fears and the guilt that she lived with over the poor choices she had made. Slowly, she was returning to the woman she was before she destroyed that mass relay and the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent batarians crushed her under their weight as she was thrust into a full scale Reaper invasion.

 

But even as her friendships were mending, there were some people she was not quite ready to face.

 

She didn't have much of a choice when she found Joker sitting on the leather sofa after another morning of physio.

 

“Hey, Commander,” he greeted, his voice lacking any of the warmth it used to hold.

 

“Hey, Joker. Been keeping busy?”

 

She wheeled herself into the living space, trying to keep the nervousness she felt from showing in her features. He had never come to see her alone, their last argument still too fresh in their minds to make either of them want to face the giant elcor in the room. Her last chance to made amends before Earth, and she had told him coldly to carry on.

 

“I try,” he said, with a half-hearted shrug. “Went and saw Big Ben. EDI would have—”

 

He cut himself off with a defeated sigh, head hung low so she wouldn't have to see the pain of EDI's passing on his face.

 

Dr. Chakwas had told her it wasn't her fault. But damn if that didn't feel like one big, fucking lie.

 

“She'd have loved to see it, Joker. She should have been here to.”

 

_But she's not. Because of me._

 

After composing himself, Joker reached into his bag and pulled out a small box, handing it to Shepard. “Saw this in the markets today. Thought you'd like it.”

 

When she looked down at the model SSV _London_ he had purchased for her, she felt her eyes mist. “I don't deserve this, Joker.”

 

“I know I'm not your therapist, Commander, but you need to stop it with the guilt. She wouldn't have wanted you to beat yourself up over this.”

 

“Doesn't make it any easier,” she muttered.

 

She turned the box over in her hands, remembering the last time she had seen EDI at the FOB. For all that her constant warmongering had done to shape the ruthless leader she needed to be, EDI still managed to find a bit of humanity in her conversations with Shepard. She was more human than Shepard was, in the end.

 

“I stopped going to the medbay after the crash. Dr. Chakwas was pissed when I kept 'forgetting' to take my medication,” Joker said. “But Vega put EDI in the AI Core after she went offline and...”

 

“You can't stand being down there, knowing what's behind that door.”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

The lull in the conversation made the absence of their synthetic friend all that more known. Joker and Shepard were fairly succinct when it came to discussing mission objectives. EDI had always interjected, providing additional information that may have been overlooked or adding a dose of ill-timed humor to ease the mood in the cabin. She could only imagine what sort of quip the AI would be making now.

 

“So, why the cruiser?” she asked.

 

“Before everything went to shit, EDI kept asking me to go shopping with her on the Citadel. Something about the 'exchange of material possessions to create a closer proximity' with the crew. Guess it was her way of saying she wanted to buy gifts for everyone,” Joker said, a melancholic smile on his lips. “She asked me what you're into. I said the only things you like are 'barking orders and model airships'.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Shepard mused.

 

“We never made it to the Citadel. I kept rolling my eyes and telling her to go 'girlie girl it up' with Tali or someone else. I shouldn't have been an ass about it.” Regret had him looking away again. “Anyway, when I saw this, I thought it looked like something EDI would have got you. Guess it's my way of remembering her.”

 

Shepard was touched by the sweetness of the gesture. “Thanks, Joker.”

 

“Besides, pretty sure some of your ships were damaged in the crash. You might need to replace a few of them on your wall,” he added, indicating to the gift he had brought her.

 

It made her feel worse for avoiding this for so long.

 

“I shouldn't have yelled at you,” she finally admitted, as close to _sorry_ as she could bring herself to say.

 

“I shouldn't have made that stupid joke about Thessia.”

 

They both looked at each other, embarrassment heightening the awkwardness of the moment. It seemed silly now to have spent months being angry over an exchange that had happened at the height of the Reaper invasion.

 

“Why don't you show me how this bad boy works,” he suggested, eager for a change in topic. When he gestured towards the box, she handed it back to him so he could inspect the back of it. “Never did get why you'd rather put those things together than fly one.”

 

“What? And miss all the excitement of watching paint dry?” Shepard added, smirking. “You're in for one hell of an afternoon, Moreau.”

 

At that, Joker groaned teasingly, giving a shake of his head. It almost felt like their days back on the SR-2 under Cerberus, enough that it had Shepard grinning as she started removing the manual from the box.

 

“Ready to have your world rocked, Joker?”

 

“...starting to wish I'd bought the ryncol instead.”

 

*

 

Even with her body supported by the single bar lining the wall, he could see the way her legs wobbled, making anxiety flicker over her face. Shepard scrunched her nose in a way that Garrus would be hard-pressed to call 'adorable' (that he could still find her tells endearing was something he tried not to think about), her green eyes darting up to catch his. It still bewildered him each time he looked at them, when he didn't see the violent red of her pupils overshadowing the soft tones of her irises. She once wore her scars like a map of her sins, carving her faults deeper into her flesh each time she acted without mercy. There was almost something more honest about her when she had her old implants.

 

In the beginning, he had vindictively mused how easy it was to see how much of herself she had lost to the war when she had the literal scars to prove it. It felt almost like a farce the first time he saw her in the hospital, with her pale skin free of the marks the war had left on her. All it meant was that her real scars remained buried beneath the clear sprinkling of freckles splattered over her cheeks, her true nature lurking behind a face lost to the few good memories he still had of her.

 

But as he began spending more time with her, he realized that her blemish-free flesh wasn't a symbol of her false nature, but a sign that she had begun to heal, to become the friend they had all lost to the grim expectations the galaxy had thrust on her.

 

And now, when she looked at him with those eyes, he fell for her a little more each time.

 

“You've got this, Shepard,” he said, the gentle rumble in his vocals containing barely disguised affection.

 

“Easy for you to say, Vakarian,” she mumbled, looking awkwardly at the floor between them. “You're not the one about to fall flat on your ass in front of an audience.”

 

“We can do something a bit easier, Commander. You've shown remarkable progress in the last few weeks,” Dr. Cho said, standing off to the side and ready to intervene.

 

Garrus could see the strain in her arms as she used the barre to hold up most of her weight. The sudden determination on her face had her quickly responding, “I'll get it done, doc.”

 

It sounded so much like her old self, it almost hurt.

 

With a deep breath, she pushed herself off, taking an uneven step towards Garrus. She wobbled so violently, he was already moving towards her, closing the gap when she righted herself and said, “Step back, I've got this!” in her commander voice. Garrus may have had a history of insubordination when it came to his commander (especially when his insubordination saved her from her self-destructive nature), but he was already stepping back, put in place by her steely gaze.

 

Her next step was a bit more steady, her knees not quite buckling as hard when she straightened her posture. By her third step, she had closed half their distance but it was clear to see the strain on her legs was making it difficult to continue.

 

Her fourth step had him itching to reach out to her. By the fifth, he was forcing himself to stay in place. On the final step, she was stumbling into him and it was pure instinct that had his talons grabbing her waist firmly, holding her up in front of him. His naked hands could feel the heat of her body through the thin material of her tank top, the curve of her waist sending a delicious trill down his spine. She was so close to him, he could count the freckles across her nose, feel her breath tickle the scales on his neck. He would be lying if he denied that there wasn't something satisfying about her putting her entire weight on him, relying on him to hold her up. He had to force himself to not lower his forehead and press it against hers. How easy it would be to slip back into a pattern that had once been familiar to them both.

 

“I did it,” she whispered, with a breathless laugh.

 

Spirits, if there wasn't something so carefree and beautiful about a sound he hadn't heard her make in a long time.

 

“You'll be dancing again in no time,” Garrus added, with a toothy grin. “I think I just saw you pull your signature move back there.”

 

“Ha. Ha. Laugh it up, Big Guy,” she responded sarcastically. “You saw me dance once in Afterlife and you think you have me all figured out. I could dance circles around your scaly ass any day.”

 

“Do you have any moves to back that up, Shepard, or is this what you humans mean when you say you're full of hot air?”

 

“I've got moves you haven't seen, Vakarian,” Shepard promised, with a smirk.

 

“I'm sure your moves are more suited for off the dance floor,” Garrus replied, his subvocals vibrating in an almost flirtatious purr. He had meant the 'battlefield' but damn if it didn't sound like he was implying something else.

 

Dr. Cho coughed uncomfortably.

 

Garrus was so startled, he loosened his grip on Shepard. She was about to collapse to the floor on her unsteady legs when he once again tightened his grip on her, pulling her against his chest. Her small hands grasped his arms tightly, her entire body shaking as he held her close.

 

“I've got you, Shepard,” he assured her.

 

“I know,” she whispered into his chest.

 

His neck scales flushed blue when the doctor brought the wheelchair over and Garrus helped Shepard back into it.

 

“With a few more sessions, we should have you walking across the room unassisted,” the doctor promised. “You've done a lot today so why don't we wrap things up and continue this tomorrow?”

 

Dr. Cho went through the usual cool down drills they did at the end of their sessions. After many of his usual optimistic remarks and the promise of pushing her a bit more the next day, he was off to take his lunch, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

 

Garrus shifted his weight awkwardly between his feet, silently debating if he should bring up the invitation she had offered the week before. It would be easy to keep it buried, to keep their interactions bordering on a polite professionalism that lacked the same ease Shepard had when with Tali or Liara. But the more time they spent together, the more he wanted to ignore the stubborn part of him that wanted to drag out the anger he had carried with him for months.

 

“I'm free today, if you still want to do lunch,” he found himself saying.

 

The nervous tremor in his tone made him feel foolish the moment he said it.

 

Her eyes widened when she realized what he was asking. He was as shocked as she was when he saw her freckles disappear behind a deep blush. “I—yeah. Yeah, that'd be great. I mean, the food's shit here but—”

 

“I'm much more interested in the company than the food,” he admitted.

 

And damn if that didn't make him feel like a fresh recruit back on his first shore leave, asking a fellow female squad mate if she wanted to head to the shooting range to practice.

 

“I thought you and Dr. Michel had lunch on Tuesdays?” Shepard inquired, breaking his train of thought.

 

Her voice didn't have the same chill it had the week before but he could hear how nervous she was in asking. He had found it strange last week, until Dr. Michel told him Shepard may be a little jealous of their friendship. He couldn't understand why at first, until he stopped being obtuse and considered that despite having no history of showing attraction to or dating outside his race, before Shepard, it may have looked strange to her when she became aware of how often he saw Dr. Michel and how he had never mentioned it.

 

He hadn't thought it was important but maybe Shepard had thought he was hiding something from her.

 

“I told her I needed to catch up with an old friend today,” he said.

 

Her smile was enough to placate any concern he had that she was already having second thoughts. “In that case, looks like shitty food and bad jokes are on the menu today.”

 

“Been looking forward to it all day,” Garrus added, helping to wheel Shepard out into the hallway.

 

*

 

After that, it seemed ridiculous that he had made such an effort to avoid spending too much time with Shepard. The lines of stress had faded, replaced by the crinkles in her eyes when she laughed at his jokes and the dimples in her cheeks when he had her grinning like an idiot over his latest frustrating encounter with the volatile Prothean. He lamented in a low growl when Shepard pointed out that outside of Liara, Javik probably considered Garrus his closest friend.

 

“Do all friendships with Protheans come with rants about 'primitives' and the empty promises of throwing a certain blue-eyed asari out of the airlock?” he groaned.

 

He was thinking it was time to buy Javik an endless supply of ryncol and lock him in the lounge each time the Prothean came to him to unleash his ire at 'this cycle'.

 

“That's the price you pay for being so god damned lovable, Vakarian,” Shepard had replied, with a saucy wink. “You need to do what I do: send him against a battalion of Reapers whenever he gets antsy.”

 

“First of all, pretty sure you killed all the Reapers,” Garrus pointed out. “And secondly, I don't think I pull enough rank over him to order him around. Is that why you were always dragging him out on missions?”

 

“Don't even try telling me he wasn't more pleasant back when I was on the ship.”

 

“ _Pleasant_ 's not the word I'd use. Less surly, maybe.”

 

“Give him directions to the Alliance training facility. I'll give him clearance to use it and he can spend all day killing holographic 'primitives',” Shepard offered.

 

Garrus had to admit he didn't have a lot of faith in that plan. But after Javik returned from an all-day bonanza of reckless violence, smirking and bypassing Garrus in his usual nightly rant of everything wrong with Earth, Garrus felt he owed Shepard a bottle of the galaxy's best whiskey.

 

Today, he was at work in the battery, humming to himself as he reviewed his recent calibrations. He had been spending so much time with Shepard, he was starting to worry he would end up undoing weeks of work if he didn't stay focused.

 

“Welcome back, Mr. Vakarian.”

 

Garrus squawked loudly, flailing backwards from the console and falling quite hard on the floor. The voice had come from all around him, echoing off the speakers installed in the battery. When he looked up at the door, he found Tali laughing uproariously as she leaned against the battery entrance.

 

“Not a word. To anyone. Ever,” he threatened.

 

“Keelah, you should have seen your face!” she snickered.

 

“Apologies, Mr. Vakarian. Miss Zorah had given specific instructions on when I was to make my presence known,” the voice continued. “I am starting to suspect her intentions were not to assure the crew of my online status but to prompt a response out of them for her personal amusement.”

 

“EDI?” Garrus asked, picking himself up off the floor. Despite the prank Tali had orchestrated, he found himself grinning up towards the surveillance. “How long have you been online?”

 

“For approximately 5 mins, 21.543 seconds,” the voice responded. “Based on the Earth's rotation. I can convert that to galactic standard, should you require further clarification.”

 

Garrus sighed. He was never going to live that down, though he has gotten better with earth time, making the effort to actually learn the conversion instead of just relying on his omni-tool, so he was never late to meet Shepard.

 

“So this has been your secret project?” Garrus asked, glancing over at Tali.

 

Tali fiddled nervously with her gloved hands. “I...would have said something. But I didn't want to make any promises. I wasn't sure I'd be able to make her more than a simple VI once I started fiddling around in there.”

 

“Miss Zorah is a leading expert in geth technology and she applied similar protocols into reformatting my programming,” EDI said. “I am performing at about 67.813 percent of my former capacity but with further instruction, I should be able to attain my full capabilities.”

 

“Joker's going to have a field day when he hears about this,” Garrus said.

 

“I have already messaged Jeff, per Miss Zorah's request, and informed him to meet in the crew deck once he arrives at the _Normandy_ ,” EDI added. “I...am not certain of his arrival time, as he has yet to respond.”

 

It was almost strange to hear the AI's voice express uncertainty, one of the humanizing characteristics of speech that she had learned in her time of assuming control of Dr. Eva's body. If Garrus didn't know better, he'd say EDI almost sounded worried at being reunited with Joker.

 

“EDI's still uploading her system into her old body,” Tali explained. “I thought it best to stay out of the AI Core until she's finished.”

 

“I'll let you know if there are any complications, Miss Zorah,” EDI said. “Though I suggest remaining outside of the medbay, for the safety of all crew that may be on board.”

 

“Understood, EDI.”

 

Garrus looked at the quarian, feeling nothing but an almost parent-like affection for what she had done. “You know, Tali. I think the quarian we recruited back in our days of chasing down Saren wouldn't have blinked twice at shutting down EDI for good.”

 

“...You're right,” she admitted, with a pause. She then added, “But Legion taught me that some machines are more than wires and programming.”

 

There was a long moment of silence as both of them remembered an old friend who had been lost to the Collectors.

 

When Joker arrived some time later, looking disheveled and his usual sullen self, Tali and Garrus were already in the mess hall, finishing off their evening rations. While London had a handful of dextro restaurants tucked away in its corners, Garrus often preferred the quiet in the _Normandy_ to the lively thrum of the city, though that didn't mean he and Tali hadn't gone out for dinner a few times in the two months since they'd docked.

 

“I got your message. You said you needed help with the ship?” Joker asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. “Maybe next time, don't put everything in caps. You made it sound like everything was on fire.”

 

“There was a fire or two, but I disabled the alarms so I wouldn't worry anyone,” Tali replied.

 

“...you realize the battery is right there. Beside the AI Core. Where I'm assuming the fires were,” Garrus said, looking extremely anxious.

 

“Right. And I handled it. So you didn't need to worry.”

 

Somehow, that didn't make Garrus feel any more comforted.

 

“...so you're saying you don't need my help?” Joker asked again.

 

“Ah, right. This way.”

 

Joker followed them towards the medbay but stopped when Tali entered inside. Looking at them uncomfortably, he scratched the back of his neck, ducking his head so they wouldn't see the discomfort on his face.

 

“Look, Tali. I don't think you need me for whatever's in there,” he started.

 

“Trust me, Joker, you're gonna want to see this,” Garrus said.

 

Joker didn't look quite convinced but he gave a heavy sigh and stepped carefully into the medbay. Everything in the room looked to be in its usual condition, supplies replenished since docking and the damage done after their crash landing repaired in the first month they arrived back in London. The only noticeable absence was Dr. Chakwas, who had taken residency at the hospital to assist in Commander Shepard's recovery.

 

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Joker added, “Really don't know why I'm...”

 

His voice trailed off as the AI Core doors opened seemingly on their own at the opposite end of the room.

 

The familiar squeaking of the AI's limbs made all three of them hold their breaths as Dr. Eva's body moved on shaky legs to the center of the room. It reminded Garrus of the way Shepard walked, each day with increasing confidence and strength as she regained control of her legs.

 

EDI paused in the center of the room, a meter away from Joker.

 

“Hello, Jeff,” she said, blinking her eyes behind her orange visor.

 

It took all of a minute for Joker to realize he wasn't imagining this. And once he was certain she was real, he was taking those final steps, his usual unsteady gait a confident stride that had him pulling her into his arms and gripping her tightly. His shoulders were shaking, his face hidden by the crook of her neck and his SR2 Alliance issue cap. When EDI's arms encircled his waist, her lips curling in a small smile, they heard him whisper her name, almost like hewas afraid she'd disappear if he said it a bit louder.

 

“See? That's the kind of reunion I would have liked,” Garrus mumbled to Tali. “Makes me question how much you really care for our friendship, Tali.”

 

“I made sure EDI took a vid of your reaction,” Tali whispered back.

 

“...did I say 'question'? I meant 'validate'. Never had a friend like you, Tali.”

 

He could see her glowing eyes blink behind her helmet but he had no doubt there was a shit-eating grin behind that mask.

 

The four friends spent the rest of the evening in the lounge, sharing drinks and filling in the AI on everything that had happened in the eight months since she went offline. For her, it had only been hours since the Crucible's pulse had shut down her programming and she was put back online by Tali's tinkering. She was more confused than anything to find she was back in the Sol system but otherwise, it was as if she had never been shut off.

 

When it was late into the evening and Joker was passed out, his head resting on EDI's lap as she watched over him affectionately, Garrus helped a very drunk and jubilant Tali into one of the beds in the crew quarters.

 

“Induction port successful in administering beverage!” she declared, curling up against the pillow.

 

“Pretty sure it's called a straw, Tali,” Garrus teased.

 

“Once Shepard's back, it'll be just like old times,” Tali said.

 

Where the thought of being stuck with Shepard on the ship had once reminded him of those months they barely spoke to each other, their camaraderie as dead as the bodies she left behind in each completed mission, he now found he might not mind spending months on end with her back on the _Normandy_. There was still a lot to be fixed, but the change between them made him believe that they could some day put their messy past behind them.

 

“All we need's another rogue Spectre to chase down and the best damn commander in the galaxy to get the job done,” he said, grinning.

 

When he began to walk towards the door, he barely heard his name being called above the sound of his footsteps. “Garrus?”

 

He glanced over to his old friend.

 

“Do you think I'll ever see Rannoch again?”

 

The sorrow in her voice had him swallowing hard. While the rest of them had been bickering with or holding grudges against their commander, the quarian had taken her separation from her homeworld with a quiet dignity that none of them could claim. She was better than any of them, putting aside her mistrust of machines to bring back one of their beloved crew. It seemed unfair that she ended up with the raw end of the deal in all this.

 

“Some day, Tali, you will,” he promised.

 

Said years ago, it would have been an empty platitude. But in that moment, Garrus believed it. Because she had earned it.

 

Sitting quietly in the battery, beginning to strip off pieces of his armor, Garrus was nearly startled when an incoming message had his omni-tool blinking. At least he kept his composure this time instead of giving EDI another blackmail vid to be uploaded onto the Extranet.

 

Opening the message, he was even more surprised to see it was from Primarch Victus. An uncomfortable feeling settled deep in his abdomen as he read it.

 

_Consul Garrus Vakarian,_

 

_It has been some time since we last spoke and you departed for Sol. I hope your arrival on Earth has given you ample time to reunite with the commander._

 

_There is a situation on Palaven involving stranded alien forces that assisted in the defense of Menae. Your presence is formally being requested to assist in placating their demands and arranging transport back to their homeworlds. Leader of the krogan forces, Urdnot Grunt, has also refused to cooperate with any “Scale-faced, candy-assed pyjaks” he hasn't formerly been acquainted with._

 

_Please see attached coordinates to refugee housing facilities..._

 

As Garrus scanned the message again, the title 'Consul' and 'requested to assist' made his stomach churn. Primarch Victus could find hundreds of ways to indirectly state what was meant, with the cold formalities inherent in the hierarchy, but the gist of the message was clear.

 

He needed to return to Palaven. ASAP.

 


	7. Stay WIth Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows what she wants from him. But Shepard has learned there are some things she can no longer have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more belated than I would have liked but here is the next chapter! It's already winding down towards the end. Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this story through comments and kudos. Knowing that you're enjoying it has made the process of writing and editing fun for me in these last few months.
> 
> Also, a big thank you to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for once again beta reading and providing her much valued input on the direction of this story. I hope you're having as much fun with this as I have!

Garrus gave her another one of his endearing grins, his mandibles flickering out far enough to show the hint of pointed teeth she should have found more terrifying than adorable. He had remained as rapt to her story as he normally was, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told her that there was something unpleasant on his mind. It was in the way that he politely listened, contributing very little to their conversation, and how he picked at his food with mild interest.

 

The private cafeteria was quiet that day, the two of them finding the atmosphere of the lunchroom frequented by high-ranking patients and specialists to be less obtrusive than the bustling noise that always greeted them in the public cafeteria on the lower levels. With its comfortable seating and view of the river, Shepard could almost believe they were somewhere in the middle of London, in a middle-scale restaurant with nothing but time and each other.

 

But she couldn't bury the worrying thoughts that soon had her also picking at her food.

 

“I know the food's no better here than on the main floor,” she started, smiling hesitantly. “But maybe once I can get around without my damn crutches, we can go some place nice in the city.”

 

She had stopped using the wheelchair this week, trading it in for forearm crutches that helped shift weight to her arms and made it easier to explore the hospital. Dr. Cho estimated she would only need this for a week or so before she could walk unassisted. The suggestion of putting implants in her spine from months before was no longer part of the discussion.

 

She was eager to get back out there, to spend days in the training center instead of physio, rebuilding her physique and getting her body ready to step back into command. Most of all, she had been looking forward to dragging Garrus along with her, maybe for a bit of their embellished trash talking and some sparring.

 

Yet she couldn't chase the feeling that she was hoping for too much.

 

“I'd like that,” he said, though the noncommittal vibrato in his vocals hinted more regret than acceptance of the invitation.

 

“I get the feelings there's a 'but' you're not telling me,” Shepard said, quietly.

 

She knew him well enough to know when he was evading a conversation. After all, she had done it enough times to him that by now, leaving things unsaid had become second nature to them.

 

But that was her way of dealing. Even when there was a conversation she desperately wanted to avoid, Garrus eventually came around to getting it out of her. With the careful way he was considering the food in front of him, she had a feeling that he was about to lay out whatever was bothering him.

 

Maybe this was the part where he told her, _'Hey, Shepard, it's been great but this whole friendship thing isn't really working out for me.'_ The last time she had felt this nervous was when she had, quite poorly, suggested they work on things. That similar dread was eating away at her and it only made every bite of food she took taste as bland as sawdust.

 

In hindsight, that would probably have been an improvement.

 

“There is,” he said, finishing off with a small sigh.

 

She hesitantly reached across the table, giving his un-gloved hand a squeeze. Feeling his scales against her skin made her chest throb and she pulled her hand back before she could be accused of lingering over a sympathetic gesture. “Something on your mind, Big Guy?”

 

It took him a moment and when he finally spoke, he was looking down at where she had touched him. The prolonged silence made her anxious. Perhaps she had gotten too friendly with him lately.

 

“The primarch has ordered me back to Palaven. I've been promoted to consul, most likely to deal with the bureaucratic red tape that comes with civil service,” he finally said.

 

To her relief, it wasn't nearly as terrible as the various thoughts of rejection that had been festering at the back of her mind.

 

“Just one of the perks of being in command,” Shepard mumbled, not quite certain where that remark came from.

 

“Exactly. He's got his hands full resettling veterans and cleaning up our cities. I get to deal with the alien refugees.”

 

“Don't I know a thing or two about that,” Shepard said, thinking of all the squabbles she had been called in to settle in the refugee camp on the Citadel.

 

It was disappointing to know that Garrus would be returning soon but that would just mean she'd have to spend as much time with him as she could before he shipped out.

 

“Any idea when you're heading back?”

 

A pause. “In the morning.”

 

“Oh,” Shepard said, unable to hide the crestfallen expression on her face.

 

“The primarch formally requested Admiral Hackett's assistance in arranging transit for me. Kaidan messaged me earlier and said the _Normandy_ will fly me back to Palaven.”

 

She heard what he was saying but all she could think of was how much she was going to miss having these lunches with him, being able to enjoy his company instead of denying herself these moments to play 'hero'. The more they reconnected, the more foolish she felt about having ever used the excuse of a galaxy to save to push him away. But sometimes, late at night, when the nightmares became too much and she lay awake, a cold sweat soaking her sheets, she wondered if she had really pushed him away to focus on the war...or if she had done it because she felt her own darkness emerge with every body she left in the field and she wasn't quite ready to face his judgment, to have him see that side of her.

 

It was still there, lurking beneath her skin. When a loud sound made her fingers twitch for the gun absent at her side, her eyes flitted wildly to the assault that wasn't coming.

 

So much about her was still damaged.

 

Yet, maybe as no surprise, she felt she hadn't truly begun to heal until he came back into her life. There was so much that she had missed about him: the warmth in his eyes when he was laughing with her, the sensuous rumble of his vocals when he teased her...his hands catching her every time she stumbled in physio and the unbreakable promise that he would always be there to catch her. It made her feel as if she had a chance to bury the anger and guilt, to rebuild everything she had broken and become herself again. Maybe not the same Shepard from before the invasion but a version of herself that could be everything he needed.

 

But if he was leaving tomorrow, it meant she'd have to do the rest of her recovery without him.

 

“Shepard.”

 

She was surprised when she felt him take her hand, holding it firmly. Her hand fit perfectly in his, biology be damned, and it had her gulping down the tightness in her throat.

 

“If you want me to stay—”

 

“No,” she said, hating herself even more for saying it. She knew what she wanted but knew she wasn't allowed to have it. He wasn't hers anymore. “Your people need you, Garrus. And I—I'm not going to hold you back this time.”

 

She was letting him go.

 

She knew it may be months, years even, before they saw each other again. If Garrus remained posted in a civilian position, he was stuck on Palaven. And if Palaven was anything like Earth, the process of rebuilding would take the better part of a decade.

 

She didn't know what was in store for her, where Hackett would position her next. But she had her doubts she would have any extended shore leave for a while once she was discharged from the hospital.

 

“I'm gonna miss our lunches,” was the most she let herself admit.

 

Garrus' smile looked as melancholic as she felt. “I'll miss them, too.”

 

They spent the rest of their lunch in silence, hands held as they reluctantly accepted that this would be one of their last moments together, neither of them regretting their meals growing more cold and tasteless. Both were hesitant to let go, Shepard wanting to remember how his scales felt against her warm flesh.

 

It was Garrus who let her go first.

 

They then both stood up and said their goodbyes, Shepard having to return to an afternoon appointment with Dr. Michel and Garrus saying he was off to communications to update the primarch on his ETA.

 

She promised to see him off in the morning, but it didn't ease the sadness she carried with her through her appointment and into the evening. Just when everything was starting to come together, it felt as if it was unraveling once again.

 

*

 

“Are we really going to watch _Fleet and Flotilla_ again?” Liara groaned.

 

“Cultural. Quarian. Relic,” Tali responded, tersely.

 

“I find it confusing that you would associate the illicit inter-species relationship between a quarian and a turian as representative of your culture when biological impediments and limited exchanges suggest a significant divergence in what you claim is a cultural relic and the documented practices of your species,” EDI added.

 

This only seemed to irritate Tali more in her argument to make her friends endure one more showing of this film before they went to the Apien Crest. “Once again. Cultural. Quarian. Relic.”

 

Shepard shifted over as Joker plopped down on the couch between her and EDI, holding a bowl of popcorn. “Okay. Seriously. Whose idea was it to drag me out to ladies' night?”

 

“All this estrogen making you uncomfortable, Joker?” Traynor teased, leaning forward in her seat to take a handful of popcorn.

 

“You could have taken Vega up on his offer to show Javik a night on the town. I'm fairly certain it will end in some overt display of testosterone in the form of a drunken brawl and many condemnations of primitives,” Liara said dryly.

 

“Yeah. On second thought, definitely glad I sat that one out,” Joker replied, popping a few kernels in his mouth.

 

Liara looked regrettably at Shepard. “Garrus is sorry he couldn't make it but Javik insisted he show him 'how superior races drank' in his cycle.”

 

Shepard would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit disappointed. It was the _Normandy_ crew's last night in London before they made the three week journey to Palaven then, who knew how long, before they arrived back on Earth. At the very least, Shepard guessed she wouldn't be seeing her friends for two months.

 

Who knew how long before she saw a certain turian again.

 

“Guessing Kaidan got roped into that, too?” Shepard said.

 

She imagined the uptight major hanging his head in shame as Vega taught Javik what a body shot was.

 

“All male gatherings among military personnel are often a method of improving overall morale through generic activities meant to capitalize on preconceived stereotypical masculine behavior,” EDI offered.

 

“Which is why I'm here, being a team player, instead of ending up shitfaced in the gutter with whatever Vega's got on tonight's schedule,” Joker said, throwing an arm around EDI. “That, and the amount of hot air between Vega and Javik is enough to power a blimp.”

 

“I appreciate your effort to subvert gender stereotypes and spend the evening watching _Fleet and Flotilla_ with me,” EDI said, with a smile.

 

“Wait, are we seriously watching a chick flick?” Joker groaned.

 

“So much for subverting gender stereotypes,” Traynor said, folding her arms and smirking.

 

Her friends bickered and bantered a bit more, mostly arguing over what to watch as Tali scoured her vid collection on her omni-tool. It was nice to be back together with most of the crew since, at most, she may have only seen two or three of them at a time since they docked. It made her nostalgic for her days on the _Normandy_ but only fueled her determination to get better so she could make it back aboard the ship.

 

With only EDI on board with watching _Fleet and Flotilla,_ the argument appeared to be reaching no end when a knock at the door interrupted the bickering in the room.

 

Everyone fell silent as Shepard took it upon herself to see who had stopped by her private room. She was worried that it was the hospital staff, come to remind her that visitors had to leave by 8 pm. It was already after 8 but she had been hoping that Dr. Chakwas would let her get away with breaking this one rule since she wouldn't be seeing her friends again for a while.

 

She seemed to be the only one who was surprised when Cortez and Vega walked through the door, arms full with varying kinds of alcohol. “Um...you forget where the bars are, Vega?”

 

“Screw the bars, Commander. The fiesta's right here!”

 

Vega and Cortez placed the bottles of alcohol on the coffee table in the living space.

 

“You know, he keeps saying that and I still have no idea what that means,” a voice said, subvocals humming in amusement.

 

Shepard leaned on her crutches, looking up wide-eyed as Garrus stepped into the room, clad in his civilian clothes. Her cheeks burned as she thought of how handsome he looked, the deep colors he wore complimenting his facial markings.

 

“You came,” she said, unable to hide her surprise.

 

“Couldn't think of any other way I'd like to spend my last night on Earth,” he whispered, reaching down to touch her shoulder gently.

 

It had her stomach fluttering in a way she hadn't felt since their first time together, back on the _Normandy_.

 

When Kaidan and Javik walked in, carrying more alcohol between them, Shepard couldn't help but shake her head. “Not that I'm against a little R&R,but how the hell did you manage to get all that past security?”

 

“No need to undermine the power of your celebrity, Commander,” Dr. Chakwas said, last to enter and carrying a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy. “I let security know that the savior of the galaxy needed to send off her crew in Alliance style. Besides, I think our celebration for surviving the Reaper War is long overdue, don't you?”

 

There were tears in her eyes as Shepard smiled, looking around the room at the friends she had believed perished months ago because of the choice she had made on the Citadel. A year ago, she wouldn't have believed any of them would be here to drink and celebrate their survival. Now, she couldn't think of it ending any other way. A ship was only as strong as its crew and she had the best damn crew in the galaxy.

 

James and Cortez began pouring shots for everyone. When Garrus handed a shot glass to her, his talon lingering over her fingers a few seconds longer, she was looking at him shyly with a smile that felt, for the first time in a long while, free of the guilt she had carried with her for as long as she could remember.

 

“To the best damn commander we could have asked for, for saving the galaxy and looking damn good while doing it,” Garrus said.

 

“To Commander Shepard,” Cortez agreed, lifting his glass along with everyone else.

 

“To surviving the Reaper War,” Dr. Chakwas added.

 

“To the best crew a commander could ask for,” Shepard said.

 

Once everyone had finished their shot, Cortez and Vega had already taken it upon themselves to fill all the glasses for a second round. Tali was still arguing with Joker over what to watch.

 

“Look, Tali, if you're gonna get me to agree to see that for the FIFTH time, I'm gonna need a lot more alcohol in my system.”

 

“Keelah, you act as if I'm asking for your right arm. It's an important—”

 

“Cultural quarian relic, I know,” Joker mumbled.

 

“I've faced tentacle-haired, screeching foes more pleasant than your _cultural relic_ , primitive,” Javik complained.

 

Liara narrowed her eyes. “If this is another one of your embellished re-tellings of the banshee you fought in London, I can assure you we've heard it enough times now, Javik.”

 

“I was talking about _you,_ silly asari.”

 

When Liara's skin started to glow with a biotic charge, Javik somehow managed to disappear from the room before incurring her wrath. Shepard had a sinking feeling that the fish in the bathroom aquarium were about to become the Prothean's appetizers as he brooded over his mate's “lack of humor”.

 

“ _Fleet and Flotilla_ 's great, man,” James said, downing another shot. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he punched Joker playfully on the shoulder. “Besides, I think your girl's into it.”

 

“I find its simple but cohesive plot a riveting example of cross-species relations,” EDI agreed.

 

Joker scowled as he realized he wasn't winning this argument. “Fine. I'll watch it.”

 

Tali gave a victory whoop as she finished uploading the vid from her omni-tool to the flat screen.

 

“I've got an awesome drinking game for this!” James said, grinning. “Everyone take a shot any time Bellicus says, _Spirits_ or Shalei says _Keelah!”_

 

“Not all turians say _spirits_ that often, Vega,” Garrus said, with an irate huff.

 

“You're gonna be eating those words five minutes from now, Vakarian!”

 

“This is a serious film! Not an excuse to get wasted!” Tali said, folding her arms and attempting to, at least what Shepard assumed, stare down the marine. “And Shalei says _keelah_ only fify-seven times in this movie.”

 

“Game on,” Vega said, taking another shot.

 

Long after the vid had ended and everyone had returned to their private quarters at the nearby dorms or to the _Normandy_ , Shepard stumbled through the room, Garrus carefully guiding her around the abandoned beer bottles and empty shot glasses. Her head felt heavy from all the shots she had taken but her body felt light, like she was floating on air. She wasn't even sure how much of her weight he was supporting and how much of it was her, but she must have been pretty useless at moving around herself since he was soon lifting her and tucking her into her bed.

 

When he tried to leave, her hand had already found his. She was too drunk to really know or care what she was saying but sober enough to know this may be her last chance.

 

“Stay with me, Garrus,” she whispered. “Please.”

 

She knew he didn't love her. She knew anything like that was buried in the past, in memories that had long since become too painful to recall. But she had her moments of weakness, where she liked to believe that maybe one day, they could find that again. Maybe one day, she would be worth everything he had once given to her.

 

There was a long pause, his hand held tightly in hers. She vaguely recalled the only times she had ever said this to him, back when she had used his affection for her to get him to crawl into bed. He must have thought of those times, too, with the way he was looking at her, conflicted by what she meant and what he wanted.

 

And just like that, she was falling into her old patterns, making the choice for him. Unable to face his rejection, she sighed and let his hand go, turning so her back was to him.

 

She waited to hear the steps that would carry him away from her, back to the _Normandy_ , ending their final night together with an awkward encounter as she choked on everything she wanted to say to him but was too afraid to. Instead, she felt the weight on the bed shift as he pulled her against his chest, settling in beside her. Her heart pounded as she turned over to bury her face in his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin and breathing in his scent.

 

It was there. Sitting on her tongue.

 

But she was a victim to the silence that stretched between them.

 

When his arms tightened around her and his carapace rumbled with a contented hum, she drifted off into the only uninterrupted sleep she'd had in the hospital.

 

At least she could pretend that the way he held her meant something more than indulging her pitiful request for comfort.

 


	8. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrus is terrible at goodbyes. Shepard's even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The end! 
> 
> Thank you to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta-reading and helping me choose an appropriate ending for this story. Also, thank you to everyone who has followed this story and supported it over these last few months. Your feedback has been amazing and I'm happy to see there is still a great community for Mass Effect, even though I was very late in finding it.

Morning came too soon when Garrus was awakened by the alarm on his omni-tool going off. Never one to respond well to sudden noises (as EDI and Tali could now attest to), a gentle vibration thrummed in his wrist, letting him know it was time to get up. Once he shook off the haze of slipping out of a pleasant nap, he became aware of the smaller body pressed against him, her limbs tangled with his, an arm thrown carelessly over his waist. He didn't have the excuse of alcohol to explain how he had ended up in her bed, his consumption from the evening before kept to a minimum. Only a sad moment of weakness that had him giving in to her once again, even as it went against the stubborn side of him that knew this wasn't right.

 

She cared for him. He knew that. Years of friendship had survived even when his trust in her had faltered and he knew there was still more to be worked on. But he'd believed in her when she'd said she wanted to make amends, and that was what they'd been doing.

 

Yet, he'd promised himself he would never find himself back here, in her bed, unless he was more to her than another way of relieving her stress. He remembered only too well how easy he'd fallen for her after she'd propositioned him the first time and even after everything, he wasn't convinced she had ever loved him. She had certainly never said it.

 

But watching her chest rise and fall gently, the peaceful expression on her face as she slept comfortably in his arms, it made him question everything. Inebriated, she had asked him to _stay_ , despite having told him to _go_ when they'd had lunch.

 

Spirits, it was all confusing.

 

Reluctantly, he had to separate from her, carefully disentangling himself and slipping off the bed. He had a meeting with Admiral Hackett at Alliance HQ, most likely to go over a few logistics related to human refugees seeking resettlement from Palaven back to Earth. Since he was the new consul in charge of alien affairs on his planet, it now fell under his jurisdiction.

 

"Garrus?"

 

Garrus cursed under his breath. So much for a silent exit.

 

He saw her sit up dazedly in her bed, stifling a yawn. Her eyes flitted down to the omni-tool she was opening, voice heavy with sleep. "It's not even 7 a.m. yet."

 

"I was trying not to wake you," Garrus said, his vocals also feeling thick from getting up at this hour. Despite it all, his mind was still sharp and he was having a hard time shaking how much he wanted to crawl back into the bed and curl up beside her, as complicated as this situation was. "I have a meeting with Hackett before we take off."

 

"Nothing like doing the 'walk of shame' before heading to Alliance HQ, huh?" Shepard joked, though the lightness in her voice suddenly struck a small nerve in Garrus.

 

Unfortunately, she mistook the unamused expression on his face plates for a lack of understanding.

 

"The 'walk of shame' is when--"

 

"I know, Shepard," Garrus interrupted, voice more rough than he intended. "My translator picked it up. We have a similar expression."

 

He was tired, he was confused. He didn't mean to react in this manner, but he couldn't chase the feeling that this was all just a game to her. He was confused by how close they had once again become, the moments of vulnerability she'd showed him, so different from the coldness he had once been used to receiving from her. It made him almost believe that maybe there was something there that neither of them were addressing.

 

But then, she would go and say these things that made him think he was reading too far into it.

 

“Oh,” was all she said.

 

He knew he had to leave, the tension brewing between them something that was ready to explode if he so much as acknowledged it existed. There was something about waking up next to her, and hearing her trivialize it in a poorly timed joke, that reminded him of the times on the _Normandy_ when she had been more than happy to kick him out of her bed after taking advantage of his comfort.

 

“Garrus—!”

 

“I'm sorry, Shepard, I should—”

 

The grip on his wrist had him stopping before he could take another step away from the bed. She was on her feet, leaning against the side of the bed, legs wobbling unsteadily as she used the mattress for balance. It was easy to fight the urge to pull her in his embrace, the only way he could be certain she wouldn't fall, when he couldn't be sure why she wanted him here to begin with.

 

“Stay,” she whispered, like she had the night before. “Just for a moment.”

 

Somehow, that made it worse.

 

With a tired sigh, he pulled his wrist from her grip. “I can't do this anymore, Jane.”

 

The use of her name had her frowning. “Do what? Garrus, it's not like we...”

 

She gestured suggestively to the bed, a blush filling her cheeks.

 

“...fucked? Yeah, I'm aware,” Garrus mumbled, choosing her favorite word for what had once seemed the only activity she enjoyed doing with him.

 

“If this is about the 'walk of shame' joke then, yeah, I guess it was in poor taste,” Shepard replied, muttering the last part in place of a reluctant apology. It was so typical of her, Garrus was surprised she wasn't following it with that nervous habit she sometimes had of blurting something even worse to try and cover up her lack of tact. “I mean, it's been a while since we've been...uh, intimate, so I guess I thought...”

 

And there it was. As testament to spending too much time around humans, Garrus nearly found himself slapping his palm to his face and chuckling sardonically at how predictable she still was.

 

Unfortunately, he failed to hold back the chuckle. “Thanks for the reminder.”

 

“What the hell's gotten into you?” Shepard demanded. “Are you really getting that wound up over a stupid joke?”

 

“This isn't about the joke, Shepard,” Garrus said, all humor gone from his tone. “It's never been about the things you've said.”

 

“You're gonna have to speak more bluntly than that, Vakarian,” Shepard said, the switch to his family name a trigger for either their banter or an indication of how incredibly pissed off she was. With both hands steadying her against the bed, it surprisingly did little to make her any less intimidating when she was giving him _that_ look.

 

“What am I to you?”

 

“What?” Shepard blinked, not expecting that this was what was on his mind. “We're friends. That's what you wanted.”

 

He scoffed at the obvious attempt to divert attention away from what he had asked her. “I didn't ask you about what I wanted. I'm asking who I am to you.”

 

It was a long moment before Shepard could find any response to give. “I don't know what you want me to say.”

 

He could see something in her expression that he hadn't expected: fear. She was afraid of what he was asking of her, afraid of whatever truth she was holding back.

 

He shouldn't push. It was early and he was already running later than expected. But he didn't want to escape this conversation any longer.

 

“I thought I could do this, Jane,” Garrus started. “I tried being angry with you. I tried hating you for everything you've done. The only place that got me was hungover in the gutter and hating myself more for pretending I could let go. And when drinking away my self-pity stopped working, I tried being there for you, being the friend that you needed. I thought maybe if we had a fresh start, I could find the closure I needed.”

 

He was being too honest, like always. Letting her know exactly what she was to him while her own feelings eluded him.

 

“But I know now that I can't hate you any more than I can stop caring for you. Shepard—” He paused. “Jane. I know you're not sorry for anything that happened between us. But I can't go back to that. You mean too damn much to me for me to pretend I can go back to being your _stress relief_.”

 

Though her eyes widened, she said nothing.

 

“So what is it you want from me?” he asked.

 

The stoic look on her face did little to settle the humiliation that was creeping up the back of his neck, his scales coloring as he realized how much of himself he'd revealed even after his failed attempt to pretend he only wanted her friendship. What he wanted, had wanted more than anything, was for her to respect him enough to be honest for once in her damn life.

 

But now she refused to look at him and it made her answer more clear than the silence thickening the tension between them. Once again, Garrus felt foolish for misreading her, for thinking the comfort she found in their friendship meant anything more.

 

“You're gonna be late for your meeting,” she mumbled awkwardly, still unable to meet his eyes.

 

“I...yeah. I should be going,” Garrus said.

 

He couldn't leave her room fast enough.

 

*

 

Shepard was still in a state of shock long after Garrus had left for his meeting. She had believed with unchallenged certainty that any love he'd felt for her had died with her own 'death' on the Crucible, her legend marred by the truths hidden in her datapads. What she hadn't expected was that they both somehow fooled each other into thinking that there wasn't a reciprocated affection and now, her own failure to say anything would mean Garrus would return to Palaven believing he had never been more than a casual fuck buddy.

 

_Stress relief?_

 

The thought made her so sick, she was gripping the railing on the bed tightly, pausing a moment to swallow the disgust burning in her throat.

 

She hated herself for letting him believe that farce, for being too much of a coward to let him know it was far from the truth. But in the few moments where she found her confession sitting on the edge of her tongue, she was always paralyzed by the fear that if she was honest, she would once again have him fighting against his own self-interest to be at her side.

 

_The Collector base. The Reapers._

 

He dropped everything to be at her side and stayed by her side, even when she mistreated him.

 

Her eyes grew misty as she reached for her arm crutches.

 

And if he knew? He would stay.

 

She couldn't do that to him. Not when he had another life waiting for him in another system.

 

She made her way into the bathroom, noting with a disgruntled sound that her fish tank, indeed, was missing a few of her aquatic companions. But even a silent promise to give Javik a piece of her mind later couldn't distract how torn she felt about her last conversation with Garrus.

 

Saying nothing? She was good at that. She always took the easy way out and so far, it kept her from having to verbally own up to the shit she'd done to him.

 

But wasn't that what the problem always was?

 

_*_

 

As expected, the meeting with Hackett was mostly about how many airships would be sent to Palaven in the next few weeks to pick up humans. The mass relocation of war refugees across Trebia space was putting too much stress on Palaven's relief funds, adding to what the primarch referred to as a “bureaucratic nightmare”. With many of the Alliance fleets prioritizing the cleanup of Sol space and the continued work being done to repair the Citadel and the mass relay, there hadn't been as many ships available to make the trips back and forth between the systems and the reliance being placed on the turian hierarchy to deal with the human refugees was causing tension in human-turian relations. Garrus already had an idea of the political headache waiting for him when he arrived back in the Apien Crest.

 

“I'll speak with the primarch about allocating more funds to the human refugees, but I can't make any promises,” was the most Garrus could offer, in the end.

 

“I'll hold you to that, Consul Vakarian. If the primarch gives you a hard time, remind him how the Alliance brokered a deal with the krogan and the quarians. Probably saved a few million of your people with the added defense forces.”

 

If Garrus hadn't been around enough politicians to know when to hold his tongue, he would have reminded the admiral that it was all Shepard's, not the Alliance's, efforts that had led to the added support. But he knew how this game worked and anything Shepard accomplished had the stamp of _Alliance_ all over it. Once communications were established between the systems, he was hoping careful diplomacy could be used so the Alliance wouldn't use Shepard's celebrity and lord it over all the other races.

 

He tried to rid all thoughts of her since it only filled his carapace with a cold dread at how horribly he fucked things up, but it didn't help that even Hackett's hard, unwavering diplomacy reminded him of her.

 

The meeting ended shortly after that and Garrus had to take a skycar to get back to the docking bay. By the time he arrived, the _Normandy_ was finishing its clearance for take off and the rest of the crew was lounging around the boarding dock.

 

“Three weeks in space. I hope I remembered to stock up on enough filters,” Tali muttered, scrolling through her datapad.

 

“You'll be fine, Tali,” Kaidan said, smiling reassuringly at the quarian.

 

“Don't know 'bout you, but I'm taking a long-ass nap once we're airborne,” James groaned, leaning tiredly over a crate. “Esteban here makes a mean cocktail.”

 

“I told you not to mix it with that ryncol you were throwing back,” Cortez said, shaking his head. “The major and I nearly had to drag you into emergency.”

 

“Do me a favor, Vega? If you're gonna get sick, stay off the bridge,” Joker said.

 

“No getting sick on my ship!” Kaidan said, smirking. “That's an order, Vega. Or you'll be cleaning toilets the first week.”

 

“Ha ha, laugh it up,” James mumbled. “You'll all be sorry when you're burying my ass back on Palaven.”

 

“Funerals don't quite work the same way there as they do on Earth, Vega,” Garrus pointed out.

 

“Whose funeral am I going to be missing?”

 

The entire crew greeted Shepard as she arrived at the dock, balancing easily with her forearm crutches. She was assisted by both Dr. Chakwas and Dr. Michel, the former of which was arriving to resume her position as the _Normandy's_ medbay physician. It was bittersweet to see their old commander, dressed in her standard Alliance issue crew uniform, preparing to see them off. She had come a long way from the comatose woman barely hanging on, beating the odds until she could once again stand on her own two feet. Now they would be departing from her once more, on a journey all of them wished she could join them on.

 

Well, all of them except Garrus. Careful to avoid her gaze, he hung back behind the rest of the crew, having half a mind to retreat to the _Normandy_ before anyone noticed. But, given how much time he had been spending with her lately, everyone else would notice if he didn't say goodbye to her and that would only welcome many awkward conversations on the journey to Palaven.

 

There were many heartfelt goodbyes, Tali clinging to Shepard longer than anyone else as she sniffled into her helmet. The misty eyed commander had only a wistful smile to offer when each one of them promised they would be back to help whip her back into shape.

 

“A few rounds in the gym, and I'll have you flat on your back, Commander,” Vega promised. “We're long overdue for a rematch.”

 

“I hear a lot of crowing coming out of that mouth, Vega,” Shepard responded, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “You sure you wanna be making promises you can't deliver on?”

 

“You rile him up now, I'll have to hear about it all the way to the Apien Crest,” Cortez said, sighing in mock frustration. “I'm stuck with him in the shuttle bay for three weeks.”

 

“I'll go easy on you in the first round. Scout's honor,” Vega said, smirking.

 

Shepard laughed and hugged both Vega and Cortez, though her parting words to the inked marine was more playful smack talk. Garrus could see on her face how much she cared for her crew, even the prickly Prothean whose idea of a 'goodbye' was promising to defeat a primitive or two in her honor. Shepard had to carefully remind him that the turians wouldn't take kindly to him murdering any species in their system.

 

“In my cycle, _trial-by-combat_ was used among the subjugated races to quell uprisings and settle discontent. Less paperwork, more subversion,” the Prothean argued.

 

Liara sighed. “For the last time, Javik, _refugees_ are not subjugated. They're displaced.”

 

The Prothean remained silent for all but a moment. “...but they could be. It would solve a lot of the turians' problems.”

 

“You know, a good chunk of my problems would be solved if _someone_ stopped eating my fish,” Shepard remarked.

 

Liara looked appalled. “Javik, did you eat the commander's fish _again?_ ”

 

“...again?” Shepard asked, frown on her face.

 

Garrus took it as a sign that nobody had told her about Javik's late night visits to her cabin while she was in the hospital.

 

“Maybe if the commander were less inclined to display her delicacies in her quarters, I'd be less inclined to eat them,” Javik mumbled.

 

No amount of apologizing could quell the furious blush on Liara's cheeks as she dragged her Prothean away, promising to bring back fish that she would 'guard with her life' from Palaven.

 

Once everyone else but Kaidan and Garrus had boarded, leaving the current acting commander and turian consul with Shepard and Dr. Michel, Garrus felt the same embarrassment from earlier weighing heavy on him. It had seemed simple enough, speaking candidly and confronting her about what he thought were mixed signals. But seeing how easily he had messed things up, just when they were starting to get along again...

 

It should make leaving for Palaven easier. Give him time to lick his wounds, write a heartfelt apology and send it to her. He thought this was for the best, he clearly hadn't moved on like she had.

 

He knew they had never seen eye-to-eye on where they stood.

 

But every time he reminded himself to be indifferent, the lie was lost to his racing heart whenever he looked into her eyes.

 

“It's strange to be going up there without you,” Kaidan admitted, his hand on Shepard's shoulder lingering a bit longer. “It was strange enough leaving Earth without you.”

 

Shepard leaned in and hugged him tightly. “You've done great, Kaidan. The _Normandy's_ in good hands. Bring her back in one piece.”

 

Kaidan finally pulled back with a watery smile. “Aye aye, Commander. She'll be ready for you when we make it back in two months.”

 

Kaidan shook hands with Dr. Michel, pleasantries exchanged between them. As he went to board the ship, he said to Garrus, “Let us know when you're aboard, Consul.”

 

The tear-filled goodbye with Dr. Michel was melancholic in its own way. Garrus knew now how the doctor felt, though it did little to change his opinion of her. She was still a good friend, a great doctor, and he had nothing but the utmost respect for her, especially since she was the one that kept Shepard alive. He promised he would let her know if he ever returned to Earth but it was not a promise he felt he would be keeping any time soon.

 

“I'll give you and the commander a moment,” she said, wiping away her tears. “Goodbye, Garrus.”

 

With the doctor retreating to a respectable distance, that left Garrus alone with Shepard. It was hard looking down at her, her petite body held up by her crutches. It was hard knowing that each time she stumbled, he wouldn't be there to help pick her back up. He had her six in the battlefield and her recovery was just another kind of battle. They were a team, no Shepard without Vakarian, as he'd told her all those months ago.

 

He wanted to tell her, _give me a reason to stay_. Because he would, even if it meant becoming a disgrace to his people.

 

But when he looked down at her, she had only a sad smile on her face.

 

“Take care, Garrus,” she said, only the hint of a waver in her voice.

 

He wasn't sure why he expected more.

 

“You too, Shepard,” he said.

 

He should have researched the protocols on departures. How does one say goodbye to a human companion who used to be their lover?

 

Feeling a bit awkward, he squeezed her shoulder gently. His gaze lingered on her for a few moments but all she did was look away, blinking back her tears.

 

Turning away, he began his trek to the _Normandy_. Each step felt heavy, gravity crushing him to build ridges in time and space, the distance between them defined by the parameters of their respective races and expectation. His last glimpse of Earth would be the shattering of everything that once stood between them, of a barely regained friendship that would dictate the few awkward pleasantries they would exchange if their paths should ever cross again.

 

He heard the clatter of her crutches as they hit the ground and he was already turning, preparing to catch her as she stumbled into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist, tears falling freely as she looked up at him, holding him as tightly as she had the night before when it felt like letting go would impel the inevitable. That's why he had held her for as long as he could, even if he hadn't known what any of it meant to her.

 

He had known what it meant to him. Maybe that was enough.

 

“Shepard?” he asked, confusion in his eyes.

 

Her hand was reaching up, cradling the side of his face that was littered with scars. His chest trembled with the memories of her affection, haphazardly given in her moments of vulnerability when she had lived only for military objectives and to be a symbol of resistance. Now she was touching him openly, no longer fighting the pull between them, embracing everything that they could be, all that they should.

 

“You,” she said.

 

He was confused. “What?”

 

“The answer to your question: you. It's all I've ever wanted.”

 

If their history was anything to go by, her actions until this point seemed to indicate the exact opposite. Garrus was at a loss for words, trying to wrap his head around what all of this meant.

 

“I love you, Garrus Vakarian,” she whispered, in a shaky voice. “And I know I've never been honest with you. Shit, I must have made you believe you were just a casual fuck but you've always been so much more than that and...damnit, I'm so shitty at these things.”

 

She laughed nervously, breaking her own confession, shaking in his arms. He was so shocked that he wasn't certain if he was holding her up or keeping his own legs from giving in as she finally answered the one thing that had been on his mind for what felt like years.

 

“But everything...all of it...I want you to know I did it because I love you and the one damn thing I couldn't stand was losing you.”

 

His face plates shifted in surprise at the confession.

 

And damnit, wasn't that just like her, saying everything that needed to be said, when it was already too late?

 

“You're better than I could ever be,” Shepard said, pulling back her hand. His face felt the cool air of London, biting at his plates, in the absence of her warmth. “You deserve better.”

 

Letting go of him and taking a step back, she looked down to the ground as she said, sadly, “I hope you find that, someday.”

 

She must have taken his stunned silence as a bad sign. He could see her shoulders shake as the tears dripped off her chin, hitting the ground.

 

And wasn't that also so frustratingly Shepard, deciding everything between them before he got a damn word in?

 

“Shepard...”

 

She wouldn't look at him.

 

Well, if she wouldn't listen, he'd just have to show her.

 

Reaching out with a talon to lift her chin, he tilted his face towards hers, bending down to brush his mouth against her lips. She made a surprised gasp, her hand reaching up to grab one of his arms and steady herself on her shaking legs. But he was already wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him, holding her up because he would sooner fight another army of Reapers before letting her hit the ground.

 

Pressing his forehead to hers, the tremor in his sigh said all the words that failed him in that moment. He knew that there was uncertainty in their future but at least he knew, right now, what he felt.

 

“Maybe let me decide what's best for me, Jane,” he whispered, unable to hold back a small grin. “I've already found what I need, in all her frustrating glory.”

 

“You some kind of masochist, Vakarian?” she teased.

 

“Probably. Or maybe I know that deep down, my girl's always tried to do what's best for me, even if she's had the worse way of showing it.”

 

“Shit, Vakarian, no need to get all sweet on me.”

 

“But, in all seriousness, you know that for all the shit you've put me through, I'd do it again,” Garrus said, his tone no longer playful. “Every time. Because I love you, too, Jane, and I never stopped.”

 

Her eyes watered at his confession, her only acknowledgment of his words a nod of affirmation.

 

“And you know I'd stay if...”

 

“Yeah,” she whispered back, swallowing shakily. “I know.”

 

He caught the tears that trickled down her cheeks, brushing them away with his thumb. He wasn't sure how long either of them stayed like that, his arm holding her against him, his forehead touching hers. He didn't want to let go because he knew the moment he pulled away from her, it would be time to begin living their separate lives.

 

Eventually, he felt her reluctantly pull back, a somber expression on her face. “You should go. They're waiting for you.”

 

“Jane,” he said, looking at her sadly.

 

“I'll write you, Garrus. Maybe go to Palaven someday, see how the new consul gets around all that red tape,” Shepard added, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

 

“I'll show you the planet, take you to some of the best places,” Garrus promised. “Less of it's on fire these days.”

 

“Goodbye, Garrus.”

 

“Goodbye, Jane,” he said, giving her hand a final squeeze.

 

Dr. Michel was already at Shepard's side, helping attach her forearm crutches. Garrus tried not to think of how wrong all of this felt when logically, he knew he was doing the right thing for Palaven by walking away from the woman he loved.

 

Later, when they were at the edge of the Sol system, about to exit outside the boundaries of local communications and enter a three-week period of radio silence, Garrus' omni-tool blinked with an incoming message.

 

His chest ached when he saw who had sent it.

 

_No matter what happens, I love you._

 

_I always will._

 

_\- Shepard_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I'm not a complete monster. There is still an epilogue to come.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALLIANCE TRAVEL ADVISORY: Palaven's weak magnetic field means solar radiation levels are greater than those found on other habitable worlds. Human visitors are advised to wear enviro-suits or other radiation protection when visiting Palaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the real ending to this story! It's been a few months since I sat down and hashed out the kind of redemption story I wanted to write for Shepard. Many possibilities were discussed but I eventually went with this. I sincerely hope all of you that have been reading have enjoyed this story and I hope that the ending will not leave you disappointed.
> 
> Thank you to [Mordinette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordinette/pseuds/Mordinette) for beta-reading and providing constant support throughout the writing and editing process. This story was just as much for you as it was for the Shakarian community. I'm not certain if I will be writing that much in the near future but I am happy to have contributed to the fandom and thank you for being so welcoming :).

Cipritine, Palaven

103 Earth days later

 

High on the cliffs bordering Palaven's largest sea, the capital city was abuzz with energy as the working day was well underway. Sky cars filled the air between the towering skyscrapers, the walkways connecting the cliffs congested with ground transport and civilians walking to and from the nest-like, metallic infrastructures that made up the base of the city. The population of 21.9 million, Palaven's most dense metropolis, brought back life to a city that had been mostly on fire two thirds of a rotation ago. The turians were a resilient race and spent the beginning half of the current year cleaning up the ruin and debris that blocked the streets, rebuilding the broken buildings with hardly a moment's rest until Cipritine was mostly restored to its former glory.

 

In the heart of the capital, spanning a radius of five kilometers, was Palaven's center of military and government operations, the condensed cluster of buildings and docking areas heavily fortified with defenses and personnel, one of the few locations where any and all travelers coming to the planet went through processing. The largest tower, colloquially known as The Nest, in its center was the home of government, containing the offices of the system's primarch, consuls, lawmakers, and ambassadors. It was where civilian grievances became lost to the sea of red tape, bureaucracy flourished, and military leaders sometimes found themselves butting heads with a hierarchy infamous for having a stick shoved so far up its own ass, the cordiality of daily discourse became a cold mask of presentation, lest someone lose face and gain a reputation for being unfit to serve.

 

The turian anthem was named _Die for the Cause_ for a reason. Individuality was often buried beneath the expectations of society, unquestioning loyalty to one's duties placed high above personal comfort. It made reintegrating back into his race's culture a more trying task for Garrus, so used to having more personal freedom when he was on the Citadel or even on the _Normandy_. His work days became longer, and not just because the twenty hour day on Palaven was slightly longer than the simulated days back at C-Sec. There were a lot of complaints and mishandling of the refugees scattered throughout the Apien Crest, long waiting lists of aliens seeking passage to Cipritine, to go through processing so that they could secure travel back to their homeworlds, and Palaven had only re-established communications recently with Tuchanka and Sur'Kesh.

 

Well, that was, until the most ambitious attempt at strengthening the signal on the Trebia relay blew out their only means of communication a few weeks back. Then everything went to hell.

 

It added a new level to the “bureaucratic nightmare” Garrus had inherited when he reluctantly stepped into the role of consul a few months before. Somehow, the planet's “Reaper expert” became their “alien expert” and he was expected to pacify belligerent soldiers who had nearly given their lives defending an alien system with a pat on the back and empty promises as they waited to be reunited with their governments and families. The situation had become so bad that temporary offices had to be set up for Tali, the only quarian admiral anyone between Sol and Trebia had been able to contact, and Grunt, the representative of clan Urdnot after Wreav's death on Earth, at the Nest, to placate the demands of quarian and krogan refugees, who felt ignored by the turian hierarchy.

 

Once communications blew out in the latest attempt to increase the mass effect of the relay, thus furthering repairs so it could some day be used again as a means of travel between systems, the Apien Crest was left in the dark and the ambitious half-year accomplishments in being connected once more to neighboring systems proved to be a waste. All their best scientists were now off-planet, on the space station near the relay, working night and day to fix the signal. And the situation at the Nest was an ordeal of unprocessed aliens, bureaucrats running in circles receiving delayed orders to handle the latest complication passed down through the chain of command, and ambassadors being told to exhibit 'patience' over this latest 'hiccup'.

 

To make things worse, the last message Garrus had received from Shepard was weeks ago and he felt more in the dark than when she was in lockdown on Earth.

 

_Hey Big Guy,_

 

_I had Vega eating the mat in training today. Turns out I still have a mean right hook._

 

_I miss you._

_Love, Shepard_

 

Damnit, why hadn't he had the foresight to message her back right away?

 

By now, the Alliance would know there was an issue with communications since the hierarchy had been unable to respond to everything they presumably should have been receiving. That, or they would assume relations have soured to the point where the turians felt outright ignoring their human allies would passive-aggressively be the best method of relaying their frustrations over the arrangement. The last he had received from Admiral Hackett was a message detailing plans to send a human ambassador to Palaven, once a candidate was selected. That was dated 22 Palaven days before.

 

He hoped Shepard didn't think he was avoiding her since they may not be together, in a physical sense, but there was something between them that only seemed to grow stronger the longer they spent apart. What began as long, daily messages after he had arrived back in the Trebia system soon became a constant relay of messaging, their back and forth like a delayed vid conversation as they talked about anything and everything that they were doing on their respective planets. Shepard had already been on her feet and back to using the training facilities at Alliance HQ when he began working at the Nest, and while he had nothing but pride in how tough his commander was (titles be damned, she was and always would be _his_ commander), he hated that he couldn't be there with her. Most days, he wanted nothing more than to retire to his apartment, curl up with her in his bed and forget all the shit he put up with in the office. Instead, he had only the comfort of data sent the week before, forwarded to him through central communications, to reconcile the emptiness he felt without her.

 

Spirits, he missed her so damn much it hurt.

 

And now, he didn't even have week-long delayed messages to look forward to at the end of the work day.

 

His morning had been going as good as could be expected. And these days, _good_ meant he didn't enter into his office in the Nest with a flustered Tali being passed over, once again, by a bureaucrat he had referred her to (“ _Vakarian will handle it,”_ they always said, even when it fell out of his jurisdiction), or a bored krogan deciding to use the wall of his office as target practice (which, Garrus had to constantly remind the restless Grunt, was also the east wall of _his_ office since Garrus had the misfortune of having his office beside the krogan ambassador's), or a long list of inquiries from other client races wondering why they hadn't received shipments of resources or the transference of funds as promised in recent trade deals.

 

All in all, it wasn't more hectic than usual and Garrus could almost believe he'd make it to lunch without one giant fuck up passing his desk.

 

That was, until the primarch notified him that the _Normandy_ was requesting docking clearance within the hour.

 

_Consul Vakarian,_

 

 _The_ Normandy _has arrived in the Apien Crest and will be docking in Cipritine at 0800 hours. I would request that you oversee their arrival and escort the newly appointed human ambassador to their office._

 

_Primarch Adrien Victus_

 

_P.S. I am aware that the interruption in Sol-Trebia communications means that this information is reaching you for the first time. Human-turian relations are sensitive at the moment but I have full confidence that you will handle the living and working accommodations for our guest. I expect a full update once the ambassador is settled, Vakarian._

 

Moments like this, Garrus wished he had a rifle in hand and a Reaper to snipe. Life was a lot less complicated when it was only his life on the line and the fate of turian-alien relations didn't rest on his damned reputation.

 

More and more, he was questioning whether he was fit for a desk job.

 

After the initial thirty seconds of internal screaming, he was contacting the real estate agent at the nearby presidium housing, barking orders at an intern to find out who the ambassador was (a name would be nice, to put on their office) and demanding that the empty office beside Tali's be fitted with everything an ambassador would need. By the time he was finished, he was running down to alien processing at the opposite end of the sector (of course!), all the while sending orders from his omni-tool to Customs to clear the _Normandy_ crew and the ambassador for diplomatic entry. The last thing he wanted was to get off on the wrong foot with the ambassador and have them wait an hour in line to go through the same procedures as the influx of refugees went through.

 

He was panting, exhausted, when he arrived, his black and white suit rubbing uncomfortably against his joints as he paused to pen his omni-tool, dismayed to learn he still had nothing on the new ambassador (he was certain saying, “Greetings, human” would make him look like an idiot), and sent another politely frustrated message to his intern. He had just enough time to adjust his suit and make himself look less disheveled when he caught sight of Major Kaidan Alenko.

 

“Major,” he said, extending his hand and grasping Kaidan's firmly, “I take it clearance didn't give you a hard time?”

 

“No more than usual,” Kaidan said, grinning. “It's good to see you, Garrus. The crew should be here in a moment.”

 

One by one, Liara, Traynor, Joker, and the rest joined the major as Kaidan and Garrus went over the usual pleasantries. As happy as Garrus was to see his friends, he felt scrutinized by the turian personnel working at immigration and maintained as much of his professionalism as he could without seeming overtly cold. There would always be later, in the bars, when he could catch up with his old crew before they made the journey back to Earth.

 

“I better ask now before I make an ass of myself,” he said, quietly, leaning a bit closer to Kaidan, “wanna help an old turian out and tell me who the ambassador is? Information hasn't been that forthcoming. There's a beer with your name on it, Major.”

 

“Still having issues with the comm, huh? Well, if this is how you run things on Cipritine, I can't complain,” Kaidan said with a smirk. “But I've got a feeling you won't be needing my help on this one.”

 

Garrus had to hold back an annoyed huff when Kaidan walked away to chat up Dr. Chakwas, seemingly leaving the turian to make a colossal fool of himself in front of the ambassador. He'd never hear the end of it if the turian staff saw him stumble his way through an introduction, probably die from second hand embarrassment at the failure of their hierarchy to even procure the basic information expected to prepare for a diplomat's arrival.

 

He cleared his throat as he heard the telltale clicking of low heels, saw a petite woman in an officer's blazer and skirt pass through the clearance desk, and was nervously extending a hand to greet her. “Ambassador...Shepard?”

 

Her eyes shone with warmth as she took his hand, her firm grip sending a pleasing thrill up his arm. “Consul Vakarian. It's been a long time.”

 

Her medium length hair was pinned back in a professional bun, her skin warm and healthy in tone. He wanted to trace a talon over the light freckles on her cheeks, press his forehead to hers and breathe her intoxicating scent. But already, he could hear the excited murmur around them as turians and refugees alike recognized the face of the Alliance, the hero that had stopped the Reapers.

 

“This way, Ambassador,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her back and guiding her towards the personnel tunnel that lead to the main offices in the Nest. She waved off the _Normandy_ crew and they made promises to meet up later.

 

It was hard to pull back his hand, to not drop it down her back, tuck it around her waist and pull her close to his side as they walked through the above ground tunnel connecting the docking area to the Nest's tower. Kilometers below them, the sea crashed against the cliff side while above them, the harsh radiation of the sun beat against polythene glass. He mentally noted that she would need special enviro clothing to avoid burning her skin if she spent too long outside the buildings. All connections to the docking area had been made with this in mind, so that aliens to the planet would be able to purchase anything they needed before stepping out into Palaven's harsher environment.

 

“You gave up the _Normandy?_ ” Garrus asked, voice hushed as they continued their walk through the concourse.

 

He knew how much being commander meant to Shepard. For every tough call she had to make, a price paid in the scars that once marked her skin, she had said many times that she wouldn't trade it for the nostalgia that had her itching to return to the skies. She loved that ship and it had been the only place that felt like home to her in a long time. He recalled all the lunches of reminiscing they'd had before he returned to Palaven, of Shepard voicing her desire to step back into command as soon as possible to take on whatever adventures awaited her aboard the frigate.

 

He could see the flicker of sadness in her eyes but where once he could feel her regret like a heavy weight stifling the air between them, he now saw a different kind of remorse in her eyes: it was the loss of the familiar and the welcoming of an uncertain future that had a small smile tugging the corner of her lips.

 

“There's somewhere else I want to be,” was all she said. He wanted to ask _Why Palaven?_ But the revelation warmed him with a new kind of hope, though he didn't dare give voice to it yet. That she would give it up for _him_...

 

“Besides,” Shepard added, “she's in good hands.”

 

Garrus nodded in agreement. He'd spent enough time with Kaidan to know the major may not have been Shepard but he was the next best thing for the _Normandy_.

 

“I tried bouncing a message off the relay to Hackett after we made it into the Apien Crest,” Shepard said. “It's still not sending. Guessing you're still having issues with the comms?”

 

He could hear the nervousness in her voice, saw how her eyes flitted from him and back to the ground in front of them as they walked. He knew she wanted reassurance that it was the comms and he hadn't grown bored of messaging her, but with the other turian personnel around them, whispering and looking at Shepard as they passed through the tunnel, he felt too under the microscope to speak as openly as he wanted.

 

“Still offline,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “Besides the entire communications department running around like headless LOKI mechs, I had lost contact with _someone_ important back on Earth.”

 

Then, deciding to hell with it, he leaned down close enough to whisper, “It's been an awfully empty galaxy without you, Shepard.”

 

To emphasize his point, he _accidentally_ brushed a talon against her fingers as they walked side by side, the brief moment of contact warming his chest. Her cheeks colored as she failed to hide a smile, looking away from him shyly.

 

The rest of the walk to the offices was filled with careful dialogue, formalities and directions to important areas in the tower. When they made it up to the embassies, Shepard was stopped by an enthusiastic Tali, who could care less for decorum and threw her arms around her old friend.

 

“Shepard! I didn't know you would be coming!” Tali exclaimed.

 

Shepard laughed above the judgmental murmuring of the turian staff, hugging her friend back tightly. “Good to see you, Admiral. I'm guessing Consul Vakarian here has had you running around all over the system.”

 

“I just got back from Menae. Kal'Reegar and the rest of his flotilla are being housed at one of the barracks while they repair our ships,” Tali answered. The bashful squeal in her voice at the mention of the quarian general didn't escape either Garrus or Shepard's notice.

 

“And I'm sure you'll tell me all about it later, in my office,” Shepard said, smiling knowingly at her friend.

 

“Of course, Ambassador,” Tali answered, waving off Shepard as Garrus led her to the office beside the quarian's.

 

“SHEPARD!!!”

 

Shouted like a krogan war cry that echoed off the walls of the department, turians all around them nearly jumped out of their carapaces as a rather jubilant Grunt came barreling through them. Some were knocked aside by the krogan, who always insisted on marching around the offices in full armor, while others murmured heatedly about the rudeness of aliens, all their political correctness seminars be damned.

 

“Grunt!” Shepard laughed, grinning widely as she was lifted into a near bone-crushing embrace from her old companion. Garrus struggled to keep a straight face, putting on an air of disapproval over the krogan's behavior, but even he found the delight in their reunion addictive.

 

“Come to help me burn this place down?” Grunt asked, hopefully, as he set her back down.

 

She exchanged a look with Garrus. “Uh...maybe hold off on the fires for a while. Gonna give this bureaucracy thing a chance first, see how that pans out.”

 

“Riiight,” Grunt said, holding his hands up to make air quotes. “Give it a _chance._ Gotcha. Make 'em think we're playing by their rules then...BAM!”

 

“Two weeks without a fire-related incident,” Garrus reminded Grunt. “Would it kill you to go for three?”

 

“Got it. Wait until next week.”

 

“No, that's not what—”

 

“So where's your office?” Shepard asked, changing the topic before Garrus could get any more exasperated with the krogan.

 

“Beside Vakarian's,” Grunt answered, pointing to the other end of the room.

 

“Aren't I lucky,” Garrus mumbled.

 

“I've got two loaded barrels and a new wall,” Grunt said, bearing a full set of teeth with his grin. “You should come by and help me decorate.”

 

“Grunt, we've talked about this,” Garrus said, with a sigh. He already dreaded the fate of their shared wall. “Shooting holes in the wall does not count as _decorating_.”

 

Grunt snorted. “ _Some_ pyjaks around here have no appreciation for krogan art.”

 

The consul glared at his old friend. “Call it a cultural difference, but I can't say I share your aesthetic for broken plaster. I think I'd prefer our shared wall without _krogan art._ ”

 

Seeing an argument in the making, Shepard promised to see Grunt later and let Garrus pull her into her office before things could get more heated.

 

Garrus nearly breathed in relief when the door slid shut behind them, giving them the first moment of real privacy in the half hour since meeting up. As much as he liked Grunt, the frustration of being confined to the offices with the young, and rather destructive, krogan, sometimes hit a nerve. He was ready to forget those frustrations temporarily, to finally give in to the itch to take Shepard's hand since seeing her after months apart. He was about to reach for Shepard but she was already pacing to the other side of the room, distracted by the giant windows overlooking the city below them.

 

“I hope it's to your liking,” he said, carefully.

 

He was dismayed to see that the bare minimum effort had been put into outfitting her new office. A console was installed on the desk, though it wouldn't surprise him if his incompetent intern had failed to check the availability of on-world extranet access. A simple leather couch and low table was tucked into the corner of the room, along with a service terminal with quick interface contacts to everything an ambassador would need.

 

When she didn't say anything, he crossed the room and stood beside her, suddenly feeling nervous.

 

“You were born here?” she asked.

 

“In the ward on the East end,” Garrus said, pointing to an area of the city in front of them.

 

“I've never seen Palaven before,” she whispered, her voice in awe. “It's beautiful, Garrus.”

 

Taking one of her hands in his, he stroked her fingers with his talons, not quite believing that after another day of waking up without any contact from her, he was now holding her hand in his. Looking at her a bit apprehensively, he said, quietly, “The city's nice, but I prefer the view in front of me.”

 

The blush in her cheeks made him more confident that she still felt those words they'd said all those months ago.

 

“When I hadn't heard back from you, I thought...” she swallowed nervously. “I wasn't sure if it was the communications or if you'd moved on.”

 

“Well, I did meet an attractive human ambassador quite recently,” Garrus said. He could see irritation flicker over her face until he exchanged a coy look with her and understanding shone in her eyes. “I was going to offer her a private tour of the city, and take her out for a night on the town—maybe drinks and some dancing—if she's interested.”

 

“You know I can't dance worth shit, Vakarian,” she said, a playful smile on her lips.

 

He could feel her shiver as he dropped his left hand to her waist, slipping it around her lower back and pulling her hips against his. He caught the tiny sound she made at the close contact as he lifted the other hand he held, dipping his head low to whisper, “I've been taking lessons. I'm sure there's a thing or two I could teach you, if you'd let me.”

 

“We're really going to do this?” she asked, a lapse in her flirty tone letting him know that a small part of her feared the answer she would receive, “You and me?”

 

“No Shepard without Vakarian,” he reassured her. And now that she was in his arms again, he knew how true that was. “Never again, Shepard. Even if I have to flip off the entire hierarchy, I'm never letting you go again. Kind of awkward when you only have three talons.”

 

Her carefree laugh melted him instantly, though it only steadied the firm grip he kept on her waist. “I'm sure I can teach you all the ways to say, ' _Fuck you',_ without actually saying it to the primarch.”

 

“You know how much I like a little insubordination, every now and then,” Garrus practically purred, his vocals rumbling with a contented sound. “But right now, I think there's something else I'd like you to teach me.”

 

“Really, Consul?” she asked with a coy smirk. “And what would that be?”

 

“I believe you once said something about showing me the _real_ protocol on reunions.”

 

Placing a hand behind his neck, Shepard leaned up and pressed her lips against his, sighing into him when he deepened the kiss. It may have been a year since he'd done this, but Garrus remembered how to move his mouth against hers, caress her tongue softly in a way that had her knees shaking and hands gripping him tightly. When he pressed her back against her desk, his head moving to nuzzle her neck, he caught the faintest of intimate sounds spilling off her parted lips, sending a tremor of desire trickling to parts of him long neglected since before the invasion.

 

“So what's the turian protocol on reunions?” she whispered, huskily.

 

He heard her bite back a moan as he nibbled at the bit of exposed skin on her neck. “That's something I'll have to show you later, unless you want to put on a show for any of the staff that could walk in on us.”

 

“Guessing illicit romps in the Embassy offices is also frowned upon on Palaven,” Shepard mused, caressing the side of his face.

 

With a content hum, he pressed his forehead against hers, a moment of silence stretching between them as he just held her, breathed in her unique scent, felt her tiny exhalations tickle his face plates. He was almost afraid he was about to wake up, find himself alone again, and regret the decision that had taken him away from her. But the steady hands that held her against him let him know that she was really here and he would sooner be chasing sleep than welcoming it, if only to spend every moment he could with her.

 

“I love you, Jane Shepard,” he said, because he could.

 

“I love you, too, Garrus Vakarian.”

 

 


End file.
